Fear Itself
by Vampiric Charms
Summary: When panic strikes, people must come together against the fear rather than try to face it alone. After all, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. J/W, Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Fear Itself**

**xXx  
**

Here we go! Another chaptered _Crossing Jordan_ story for y'all, as promised. This one is probably going to be long. I already have four and a half chapters written and the main plot still hasn't been fully revealed. So hopefully it will keep everyone entertained for a while! Updates may be sporadic due to, well, _life_ but I will do my best to give you a new chapter at least every three weeks.

As for timeline - this is set after the end of the series by roughly six months. Jordan and Woody have already started the relationship that was hinted at during the finale. Everything else will be explained as the story progresses. Also, this time the whole gang will be involved. (And, while bits and pieces of the plot may overlap, this does not follow the same timeline as _Wonderland_.)

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**xXx**

**The only thing we have to fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.**

** - Franklin D. Roosevelt, First Inaugural Address (1933)**

**xXx  
**

* * *

**Fear Itself - Chapter 1  
**

xXx

_The gall they have, shutting down my project! How could they do that? After all of the hard work I've poured into this! The _dedication_! I've done everything they asked me to do, those vultures. Everything, without question. And all I asked for was a little more money, a little more time._

_Well, I'll show them. They want to see its full strength? Fine. They'll see it, all right._

xXx

"God, Jo, it was so _nasty_," Woody said with a shudder, setting his sandwich down it its wrapper on his lap and looking at it in distaste. "There were these gross bumps filled with...with pus or something on her legs and arms."

"Pustules?" Jordan supplied with a much-too-wide smile as she took a big bite of the turkey sandwich he had brought for her.

He scrunched his face up, starting to turn green and leaning back against the bench they had found in front of the courthouse. "That's what Kate called them, too. She didn't know what caused them, though. Man, how can you guys deal with stuff like that on a daily basis? And really, Jordan, how can you still be eating right now?"

"Hey, you're the one that brought it up."

"Only because you asked about my day."

She chuckled and reached down toward her feet for the store bag and the potato chips still in there. It was only just noon, but she had spent the entire day at the government building so far, waiting to be called to testify in a case for Walcott. A very boring day, really, but it was still part of her job – as much as she hated to admit it. Sitting in court for hours on end was definitely not her idea of a good time; she'd much rather be back in the morgue, maybe even looking at this body Woody was describing to her right now. Unfortunately, though, that would have been out of the question even if she _hadn't _been stuck here waiting to be called to the stand. They hadn't been allowed to work a case together since their relationship had become "official" to the DA.

"You found the body in the park this morning?" Jordan asked curiously. 'Working a case together' wasn't the same thing as 'talking it out', after all. The wind picked up and blew her hair around her face, and she grinned softly as Woody unconsciously reached out and smoothed it back behind her ear. "I was wondering where you were when I got out of the shower. You always get so _excited _when I put on a suit."

"It is a rare sight, you have to admit." He glanced up at the courthouse, shaking his head. "I can't believe she asked you to testify at this trial instead of Bug."

"Lots of men on the jury. Now, you found the body this morning? Come on, man, details!"

Woody sighed at that, his lips pursing in frustration. "Details are something that I am lacking right now. She's a Jane Doe, found under some bushes. Fully clothed, and it looked like someone took care in placing her. They even put leaves and fresh-picked flowers over the body. They wanted her to be found quickly, but not before they had enough time to get away. No ID on her, and no hits from Missing Persons or anything yet. Kate hadn't found cause of death when I left to pick up lunch, and she wasn't looking too hopeful to have it by the end of the day, either." He folded the wrapper over his half-eaten sandwich and looked down at it glumly. "Cases like this...I really miss working with you."

"Hey now, Kate's just as good at this job as I am!"

"Oh, come on!" He raised his eyebrows in indignation as she shoved about a quarter more of her sandwich into her mouth and chewed quickly. "She doesn't have half your dedication, and you know it."

'Half my dedication, or half of my _obsession_? Ease up on her, Woody." She touched his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile around her full cheeks when he glanced up at her. "It's obvious she's been trying to change since we were stranded on the mountain. Just give her some time."

"You two have just had time to _bond_, all girl-like. After your surgery. Don't try to hide it; I've seen the way you two sneak coffee breaks together." But the grin he was attempting vainly to smother belied his feigned annoyance with her.

"Okay, fine, you caught me - we get coffee from the break room together and gossip about all the goings-on around the office. Please." Though some of that was true; Kate was growing on her, ever since she had shown a gentler side during a time Jordan was refusing help from everyone else. It had been hard not to open up to her every so often after that. And yes, over coffee. Sometimes the gate had even opened the other way. They weren't friends, necessarily, but maybe they could be. Eventually. "Really, Woody, give her a chance. Okay?"

"I've already given her several," he muttered good-naturedly, "but fine."

She opened her mouth to say something in return, but the soft hum of her vibrating cell phone stopped her train of thought. "Crap, there's Walcott. I've gotta run. I'll look over everything you have on this Jane Doe tonight over dinner, promise." The buzzing stopped as the call went to voicemail, and then immediately started to ring again. Jordan hastily stood and gathered her purse, took a last bite of her sandwich, another swig of her soda, and leaned down to give Woody a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you for lunch, hon. I'll see ya later."

He watched silently as she dashed up the granite steps, almost blending in with the lawyers as they hurried to and from court.

xXx

Woody moved stiffly around the kitchen in Jordan's - _their_, rather - apartment, chopping some of the fresh herbs he had picked up from the grocery on the way home from work to add to the spaghetti sauce currently simmering on the stovetop.

Truth be told, he was having a difficult time adjusting to living in such a small space. Living with _Jordan _was wonderful, no doubt there. It was the apartment he was having issues with. They had tried going back and forth between his and hers at first, as they got used to really being together. Alternating weekends, and then every other week. And then the time had come to choose: one or the other. Woody had been more than willing to move in here - permanently - with her. The rent was cheaper, for one, and being civil servants certainly didn't pay well. But more than that, this was her home, more than Woody's apartment could ever have been. So now his furniture was in storage and his clothes were in her closet.

Five (relatively) happy months had passed since then. They'd had some arguments that, again, could be blamed on living in such a small space. This apartment was more of a flat - no separate rooms, nowhere to go if one or the other needed space. Far too easy for toes to be stepped on, even though they weren't upset with the other to begin with. They always made up quickly, but still. It would be even better if those fights never happened at all. Woody had been trying to think of a tactful way to bring up finding a new place to live with her. Maybe even buying a home, or a condo or townhome.

But suggesting something like that - buying a house together - was akin to asking her to marry him, something he was definitely not going to try for another year at least. It was a huge commitment. He still remembered the blood leaving her face when she found that engagement ring in Pollack's things. Yeah...he wouldn't be asking for her hand any time soon. He remembered then how close he had come to losing her to the reporter, and his face colored in shame. But that was over. _Long_over.

Woody's elbow rammed the thin bottle of olive oil, nearly knocking it off the counter, and he cursed as he made a grab for it. He'd wanted to have dinner ready for her when she got home from spending the entire day in court, but he was only halfway there and getting more frustrated by the second.

The soft click of a key in the lock was the only warning he had before Jordan let herself inside and fell back against the door as soon as it closed. "I _hate _defense attorneys," she said bitterly, her sharp gaze quickly taking in his rolled up sleeves and pinched expression without comment.

He grinned at her as his frustrations began to lift just from having her nearby. "Rough cross?"

"The guy was a jackass. Seriously, Walcott was objecting to practically every other word out of his mouth. I had to bite my own tongue a few times, but thankfully being held in contempt once is enough to teach me my lesson about talking back during cross examination." Jordan rolled her eyes and sauntered into the kitchen to peer over his shoulder at the delicious sauce. She didn't touch him, though, knowing that was exactly what he wanted her to do and wishing to play little. She reached around him instead for a wooden spoon and dipped it into the pot as he dumped the cut herbs in. "You made me dinner? Aren't you sweet."

He glanced back at her, feeling the small space she was leaving between them like it was a physical thing and watching as she tasted what he had made so far. "I'd wanted to have the noodles done by now, too, but...um, things didn't work out."

"Ah."

Her eyes flicked up to his and in that moment he realized that she knew - she knew he was having a difficult time living there as clearly as if he'd told her. But she didn't say anything about it, and he was thankful for her silence. That was something he wanted to tackle on his own, and that she was willing to let him spoke wonders about their relationship. "Would you like me to finish up for you, then? I think I can handle boiling a pot of water. I'll even look at your Jane Doe's autopsy results for you while we wait." She flashed him a wide smile, finally snaking her arms around his waist from behind to rest her head against his back, inhaling deeply to pull the scent of his soap and lingering aftershave into her lungs.

"That's all right." He turned around in her embrace and cupped her cheek, turning her face up for the kiss he'd been wanting since she walked in. "I know how spending a day in court can put you in a bad mood. I'll finish dinner. You go lie on the couch."

"I'm not in a bad mood now," Jordan murmured lowly, tilting her head just enough to bring her lips closer to his again. "Think dinner can wait thirty minutes?"

Limbs nearly turning to jelly at her insinuation, Woody slammed the lid back on the pot and quickly made sure the flame was turned to as low a simmer as it would go. "Dinner can wait an _hour_."

Within seconds, she was tugging his button down shirt out from the waistband of his pants and finding the clasp of his belt as he guided her backward around the island and toward the couch, fingers clenching in her straightened hair before falling down her neck and over her shoulders to push the jacket of her suit away. It fell to the floor, and she nearly opened to mouth to make a lighthearted protest about wrinkles and dry cleaning bills when his lips found the sensitive spot on her throat, making her breath hitch. Any other witty quips she had were lost.

"I love you, Woody," she whispered roughly as his fingers worked on the buttons of her blouse, knowing the words affected him just as strongly every time she said them. It was all she could manage now as his hands found bare skin. "Wherever we go, whatever happens. Okay?"

The only thing he could think to do in response was take her lips with his in a searing kiss as they fell down on the sofa.

Yes. Living with Jordan definitely had its pros.


	2. Chapter 2

And on to chapter two! Now things start happening...

Thank you to those who have reviewed! I really appreciate it.

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**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 2**

Much to her annoyance, Jordan's cell phone rang bright and early the next morning. She groaned, rolling over and reaching around for it blindly as the shrill ringing got louder and louder. Her fingers hit the little hunk of plastic, and the thing went flying to the floor.

"Oh, for the love of..."

This time she grudgingly pulled herself out of Woody's warm arms and leaned over the side of the bed to find it. The phone was still ringing angrily, and she flipped it open just before it went to voicemail. "What," she spat, the morning sunlight making her squint at the clock. It had to be too early -

"It's six thirty, Jordan," Garret's voice snapped. "Where the hell are you? Nigel just called in a panic."

"Called about what? My shift doesn't start for another hour and a half," Jordan grumbled, flopping back down on the bed and running a hand over her face in a vain attempt to focus.

She heard Garret sigh and knew that he was rubbing his face, too, but for a much different reason. "I assigned you to the high school career fair with him this morning, remember?"

"Oh, shit. I completely forgot."

"You were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago to help Nigel set up."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It must have slipped my mind. My schedule is just all weird this week, that's all." She started to sit up, but Woody chose that moment to scoot closer and pull her back against his chest, still half asleep and only subconsciously realizing that she was moving away. "I'll be there in forty minutes."

"I should just fire you," Garret muttered. "My life would be so much easier without you to complicate things at every turn."

"You know you'd miss me." Woody had woken up a bit more, and Jordan shooed away his hands when they roamed down her abdomen. "Stop it," she said in a fake whisper. "My boss is trying to fire me again!" But then to Garret as Woody gave her a goofy smile and rolled over, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Really, I'm sorry I forgot. Tell Nigel I owe him one."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he warned humorously before hanging up.

"What was that all about?" Woody asked when she flung the covers off and made her way toward the bathroom for a quick shower.

His voice was still lined with sleep and she flashed him a smile over her shoulder, leaving the door open as she ran the water. "Seems I'm supposed to be helping Nigel with some high school career fair thing this morning. Garret told me about it weeks ago and I blanked."

"A high school career fair? For the morgue? Isn't that a bit morbid?" He had come into be bathroom behind her and kissed the soft spot behind her ear as he reached for his toothbrush.

"Nigel's a criminologist, I'm a doctor with a unique specialty. Nothing morbid about that, right? But really, Garret just picked me 'cause I'm pretty." She stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed, already reaching for her shampoo. "Sorry to have woken you a few minutes early. And before you ask, no, you can't join me."

Woody just laughed. "Wanna meet for lunch?"

"Can't. I have no idea when this thing will be over." She sputtered and spit water out of her mouth, rushing to finish and getting frustrated with it all. She'd been looking forward to having a normal day today after spending a grueling nine hours in court the day before. Being with Nigel would be nice, but those kids...yeah, not so much. And missing her routine lunch with Woody was yet another thing to add to the growing list of what was making this week significantly different that usual. The complete lack of a real schedule –of her normal life – was messing with her head. She wasn't liking it. At all. "And now that I think about it, I don't have a clue when I'll be home tonight, either. I might have to pull a double to make up for all of the time that I'll have missed." It was a saddening thought, and she frowned in ever-growing annoyance.

"Don't worry about it," Woody told her softly, not needing to see her face to know how upset all of this was making her - from court to the forgetfulness to missing work to missing him. "I'll go put together some leftovers for you to take for lunch, and if you end up staying late I'll bring you something for dinner. Okay?"

"You're too good to me," Jordan joked, but his kindness made her throat swell for one heart-stopping second. She was thankful she was still hidden by the shower curtain even as he left the room. It would take a lot for her to admit it, but sometimes she could swear she fell more in love with him every day.

Now if he would just work up the courage to ask her those silly questions she knew he wanted to ask.

xXx

"Well, that sure took you long enough," Nigel griped the moment he saw her burst through the doors of the high school gymnasium, her casual business clothes a far cry from what she normally wore to work. "I've already finished setting everything up. Now you're just in time to help me mould impressionable young minds."

"Scar, is more like it," Jordan quipped half-heartedly as she pulled her messenger bag over her shoulder and hid it under the table skirt.

He eyed her warily, one eyebrow raised. "Is that all you've got for me this morning, love? Hardly your usual sarcastic self. Is something the matter?"

"No, I'm just…" She waved her hand dismissively as she surveyed the tables he had put together for them. "I'm just feeling weird, that's all. It's a strange week, working but not really _working_. And I'm sorry, man, but I really don't want to be here today. Teenagers and I don't always see eye to eye."

Nigel propped up the last poster – a standard medical textbook skeleton-and-muscle body – and shook his head. "Kayla liked you quite well, didn't she?"

"That was different."

Jordan's mood had shifted quite suddenly with that, and her friend opened his mouth to inquire or soothe whatever injury he had just ripped the bandage off of, but the door opened again and teenagers happy to be out of class for the morning poured into the large gym. Some of them began to peruse the tables set up by professionals around the perimeter while some drifted off in groups, trying to get away with chatting rather than looking for future careers.

The woman watched them with vacant eyes, not hearing as Nigel explained how he had laid everything out – pamphlets, brochures, papers. All of it went over her head as she watched the kids roam through the room. Kayla's face flashed across her mind, and she wondered if she would be doing something like this soon, too. She'd be almost eighteen now. Getting ready to graduate, go to college. Kayla, the girl who had almost been her adopted daughter. The only daughter she would have had, now that that goddamned tumor had –

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying," Nigel observed, poking her shoulder with one finger and pulling her from her reverie before the thoughts could spiral downward any worse. "Though you may want to liven up a bit; I see a group heading our way."

It was true. A group of three boys and a girl was slowly sauntering toward their vacant table. One of the boys was pushing the girl forward, all three ribbing her until she let them convince her to step up.

"Do you really cut up dead bodies?" she asked. The boys howled with laugher before quickly trying to stifle it.

Nigel, to his credit, gave her a patient smile and touched Jordan's arm. "I don't, myself, but this brilliant woman right here does."

"Really?" One of the boys came forward, his face a mixture of awe and disgust, as though he couldn't quite decide which to settle on. "Are you a real doctor? Like, did you have to go to med school?"

"Um, yeah." Jordan frowned at her friend, who was still grinning blithely. "I'm a 'real doctor', all right."

"You don't look like a doctor," another boy piped up, puffing his cheeks as if trying to catch her in a lie. The girl kicked at his foot with an angry look on her face. "What? She doesn't!"

"I change into scrubs before I start an autopsy," she explained calmly, letting the air out of her lungs slowly. "Sorry I didn't pull a suit out just for you. I'm gonna go step outside, _Doctor_ Townsend. Why don't you tell these nosy kids about ballistics? That's gotta be more interesting than dead bodies." She backed away from the table so Nigel could delve into the science he loved so much, adding under her breath, "I'll be right back. Promise."

She hastily made her way to the back door of the gym, the one that led to the enclosed courtyard, seeing Kayla everywhere and feeling the world she had rebuilt closing in around her.

xXx

It wasn't until two o'clock that afternoon when she and Nigel finally returned to the Morgue.

Jordan took a deep breath as they stepped off the elevators, trying to let go of whatever momentary loss she had had at the school. She'd been able to get control of herself quickly once she'd gone outside, but being back in her own territory would be the final step in getting her head back on straight. Kayla had been on her mind a lot lately, ever since it had sunk in that her body might not be able to have children. The plethora of medications she was taking to control the growth of the meningioma would see to that, as would the imbalance in hormones brought from the tumor itself.

God, she missed Kayla.

"Welcome back," Garret greeted as soon as they turned the corner near his office. "How was the career fair?"

Nigel grinned at Jordan, who was refusing to meet either of their stares. "Our doctor here had quite a few younglings on her hook. I daresay one or two of them may actually follow the path of medicine one day. Though they probably won't be joining our little family here, if the look on their faces when she talked about exploding innards was any indication."

"Hey!" Jordan held her hands up in front of her in an attempt to defend herself. "I was only answering their questions truthfully. This job can get _pre_-ty messy. Remember that time we had to get a ladder into Autopsy to pick a John Doe's stomach contents off the ceiling? It took weeks to get the smell out of my hair."

"Very funny, Jordan." Macy handed her a file as he waved Nigel off to work. "We have a body coming in from the hospital at Boston U., an Ivan Hertz. Cause of death is unknown and the family would like an autopsy done by the end of the day. Think you could take it?"

She snatched the file and flipped it open, gazing over Hertz's unremarkable medical records. "Consider it done. ETA?"

"The ambulance is about ten minutes away."

No time to eat the lunch Woody had so thoughtfully put together for her, but she gave Garret a thin smile anyway. "I'll go put on my scrubs. Great to have me back in the office, huh? This is the part where you say, 'Oh yeah, Doctor Cavanaugh, it sure is!'" she said, swinging her arm in front of her enthusiastically.

Macy just shook his head and turned to walk away. "Go get changed."

xXx

_Hertz's medical records really _were_ unremarkable,_ Jordan mused as she waited by the freight elevator fifteen minutes later clad in scrubs and a paper gown, gloves already covering her hands. He had been a healthy man, mid-sixties. Never hospitalized for more than a broken bone during a skiing trip. He was on the Board of Directors for the Boston Medical Center. Ironic that he ended up dying there.

The cause of death was unknown, but the symptoms leading to it included bleeding from the ears, seizures, fever, cramping, and undiagnosed lesions. Could be a number of things, really. The elevator began to hum, and she looked up just as the EMTs pulled open the doors and wheeled the covered body inside. "You Cavanaugh?"

"Yep, that's me. Come sign him in, boys."

As the men pushed the gurney toward the desk, Jordan followed behind and unzipped the body bag down over Hertz's head. Pustules covered the skin on his neck, and she recoiled with a gasp of surprise before quickly recovering and reaching down to unzip the bag completely. There were more – she lifted his arms and found some under them, and then more between his legs. Lesions? These weren't _lesions_. "Shit."

One of the EMTs looked at her, his eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

"Wait here. Don't leave, okay? Put on masks and _don't touch this body_."

"What -"

"I'll be right back!" she called, already running out of the crypt and into the hallway, grabbing a mask from the box by the door on her way and covering her mouth with it. "Kate! _Kate_!" Her voice had taken on an edge of panic as she looked around wildly for the blond-haired woman, almost overturning a cart in her mad dash. Where was she?! "Kate!"

"What?" She finally appeared, coming out of Trace with her eyebrows high. Nigel came out behind her, but Jordan hardly took notice. "Why are you wearing a mask?"

"That body that you autopsied for Woody yesterday. She had pustules under the arms and around the groin?"

"Yes," she answered with a slow nod.

"Come look at this. Come on!" Jordan gestured widely for them both to follow her, and they did in confusion. The two EMTs were still there, masks on their faces now and huddled nervously near the elevator. "They looked like this, didn't they?" When Kate didn't answer fast enough, Jordan pointed at Hertz again. "_Didn't they_?!"

Kate met her eyes, shocked at the force behind the question. "Yes, they did. Do you know what they are? My biopsy results haven't come back yet."

"I've only seen it in textbooks and medical journals, and we'll have to run tests to be sure," Jordan said, growing quiet now as it sunk in. "But it all makes sense. His symptoms, the incubation period, _these._ Lesions my ass. These are _buboes_."

"Jordan?" Kate prodded when her mutterings became too quiet to hear. "What is it?"

"_Yersinia pestis_," she whispered hoarsely.

"Holy Mother." Nigel took a step back and grabbed a mask for himself and for Kate, who took it and calmly put it on. "The Black Death. Here, in Boston."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading so far, and a special thank you to those who have reviewed! I really, really appreciate it.**

**As a note: I know what happens from here on isn't _exactly_ medically accurate, but hey. The show wasn't exactly medically accurate either, now was it? Just bear with me and enjoy the ride!**

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**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 3**

"The CDC headquarters in Atlanta is sending a team up as soon as they can to help us handle the outbreak. In the meantime they've already put someone on a flight up who should be here shortly to help us assess the situation."

A quiet murmur rose through the conference room once Garret finished. The entire morgue staff, the two EMTs, and an unlucky delivery man were all crowded in there to hear what was going on, and there was an air of tension and anxiety that was only getting worse by the second. Jordan looked around from her usual seat at Garret's right, her stomach twisting until she felt ready to vomit. _This is bad._

"I don't want anyone to panic," the chief continued calmly, specifically catching the gazes of the newcomers. "_Y. pestis _is rarely transmitted from person to person and once the team from Atlanta gets here we can probably get all of this under control quickly. But for the time being, no one can leave the Morgue - and some of you will have to be quarantined." His gaze flicked to Jordan, whose mouth fell open in shock. "The woman coming up now is bringing with her rounds of antibiotics for us all. Find comfortable places to settle in and call your loved ones. Nigel and Bug will start coming around shortly to get blood from you all for testing to be sure none of us has been infected. Any incoming cases that are not urgent will be rerouted to one of three hospitals for standard autopsy until further notice, otherwise they will be divided among the medical examiners who are here. I'll share any news as I get it."

"Quarantine!" Jordan hissed furiously as soon as people started to filter out of the room, getting to her feet to stare Garret in the eye.

Her boss came to stand in front of her and gently touched her shoulders. "Your immune system was compromised by the tumor last year, Jordan. That puts you in one of the highest risk groups to catch this thing. You _know _that. Just like Bug knows he won't be able to go home to Lily or their baby because they are both in another risk group."

She readied a belligerent response, but it died on her tongue when the reality set in. "I can't take the antibiotics either, can I?"

"Not until we clear it with your doctor. And until your blood comes back clean, you could be carrying this thing without knowing. Now, you have two options: Your office with a hazmat suit when you need to come out to use the toilet or the quarantine unit at the hospital."

"What do you think?" she spat, her bad mood from before back with a vengeance.

Garret dropped his hands and sighed, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms. Or maybe just shake her. He wasn't sure which one would help right then - compassion or force. "You need to go take a shower and get rid of these clothes. Use the strongest soap we have -"

"That stuff will slough off my skin!"

"- and go straight to your office," he continued over her protests. "Lock the door. We'll have a two-way set up soon."

"I need to call Woody." It came out as a pained whisper and she took a step back, looking away as her thoughts began to run off. This was going to kill him.

"Let Kate do it. Go take care of yourself. That's an order."

She didn't protest anymore, and Garret just watched in surprise as she obediently walked away from him toward the women's locker room to do as he said. She was scared - and there was nothing he would be able to do to get her to open up to him. Not yet.

Hopefully Woody would get here fast.

xXx

Woody bolted off of the elevator, hurriedly pushing people out of his way and shoving through the swinging doors into the morgue proper. "Jordan!" he called frantically, looking every which way and growing panicked when he didn't catch sight of the dark-haired woman. Techs stared up at him, startled, as he nearly ran into their cart of drawn blood. "Jordan, where are you?"

"Here! Woody -" There was a tapping sound, and he skidded to a stop to see her standing forlornly in her locked office, wet hair in waves around her flushed face and wearing scrubs that were much too large to be her own. Her voice was muffled through the window she had her knuckles against. "I'm right here. I'm - I'm fine."

"Jo..." He pressed his hand flat to the glass, and she did the same on the other side. With the sofa against the other wall now, she was so close he could almost imagine he could feel the warmth of her body through the window. "I can't come in, can I?" At the silent shake of her head, he felt any hope he still had vanish with all the subtlety of a popped balloon. Her eyes were wide and anxious, and he wished more than anything in that moment to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay even though he didn't know if it were true. This was too surreal. "How long will you have to...stay in there?"

She shrugged and curled her fingers in toward her palm. "Until it's safe, I guess," she said in a non-committal tone, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt. "I, um, can't take the antibiotics yet. Not until we talk to my neurologist and make sure nothing will interact badly with all the other drugs I'm already flooding my body with, and to make sure that it won't just kill me flat out." She gave him a weak smile that he had no hope of returning. "We can't risk exposing my immune system to the infection any more than it has been, and we _also _can't risk the little fact that until I can take those damned pills the CDC will be bringing, I could potentially be a Typhoid Mary. So. Quarantine it is. For...a while."

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, almost too softly for her to hear through the glass.

"A few changes of clothes would be nice," she admitted hesitantly, then added, "and a pair of pajamas. My pillow, from our bed. All of my medications – they're in the bathroom. I already have shampoo and stuff here. If I can ever leave this room to use it, anyway. Oh, and any pair of slip-on shoes from the closet."

"You got it. Anything else?"

"Yeah, um…" She bit her lip and looked away, studying something in her office that he couldn't see. "Find my dad. Leave him a message, ask him to come back, send him death threats, I don't care. Just…find him. So we know where he is. You know, just in case something happens this time."

Woody wanted to barrel into the room, quarantine or no, and shake her until she quit thinking that way. "Stop it, Jordan," he said instead, hating that it was all he could do. "I'll bring him back for you, but _stop it_. Everything is going to be fine. _You're _going to be fine. Okay?" She didn't look at him, so he rapped on the window with his knuckles to force her attention back to him. "Okay?"

All she did was nod in response before taking a step backward into the room. It was harder to hear her now. "See Garret before you go. You weren't really exposed much, but the lady from the CDC is still going to want a list of everyone you've come in contact with since yesterday."

"No problem." He gave her a wide, dimpled smile, hoping to get one in return. He was disappointed. "I'll be back with your things as soon as I can. I love you, Jordan."

"Right back at ya, Farm Boy."

"Jo-"

'Go see Garret."

She had turned away from him and moved toward her desk with that, so Woody backed away from the window and grudgingly glanced down the hallway. More than anything, he didn't want to leave her there, all alone, but Dr. Macy would have answers Jordan wouldn't give him. He spotted Garret in his office on the phone, and he turned and quickly made his way over to knock on the slightly-open door.

"Yes, thank you. We'll see you soon." The chief hung up the phone with a frustrated finality and tiredly called out, "Come in."

"Hey, Doctor M."

"Woody, I'm glad you're here." Garret immediately stood and came around his desk to clasp the detective's hand.

"What's going on? Kate said something about an outbreak of the Plague?" Woody swallowed and took a deep breath before adding, "Is Jordan really going to be okay? I just spent the last few minutes assuring her she would be, and now I'm wondering if I was making it all up."

"I won't lie to you - of all of us here, she's the most at risk. And if she gets it..." He let the words fall off and shook his head, not willing to voice the worst outcome.

"How could she catch it?"

"It's usually spread through fleas, but when it spreads from one person to another it's through bodily fluids or infected body tissue."

"Like during an autopsy," Woody murmured, eyes widening as he realized that she could have died if she had so much as done a Y-incision on that body.

"Like during an autopsy. And Woody, I have to ask." Garret waited until the man met his eyes again before continuing softly in an attempt to avoid embarrassment on both sides, "Did you two have sex last night?"

The detective stared at him, open-mouthed at the bold question. "I, uh..." But then it dawned on him. Fluids. And he had been near an infected body before she had. What if he got her sick? It suddenly felt like he had been punched in the stomach and he leaned forward to put both palms against Garret's desk for support. "Yeah. We did." _More than once._

Macy put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Did you use anything?"

Woody shook his head, unable to look up. "Jo can't...can't..." He took another shuddering breath. "She can't...have kids. Not anymore. Not _now_. I dunno. Medications or something. Hormones. She explained it to me, but I can't... Oh, my God. What if I...?"

"The chance is slim that you passed anything to her," Garret explained soothingly. "I just needed to know so we can act accordingly by understanding when she would start showing symptoms. _If _she would start showing any." He lowered his voice sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Woody. She never told me about all of these complications. How's she handling it?"

"The same way she always does." He chuckled humorlessly and continued to stare at the cluttered desktop. "By not talking about it. I think...I think she's more worried about how I'll take it, to be honest. Which is ridiculous! All I want is her. All I've ever wanted is...is _her_."

The doctor gave him a wry smile. "No little presidents running around underfoot?"

"Not if it risks her health." Woody finally looked up again, his eyes sad. "Not if it risks losing her. Hey, she asked me to get some stuff from the apartment. Am I allowed to leave or am I stuck here, too?"

Knowing very well that the subject had just been permanently changed, Garret stepped back and started to reach for the phone again. "As long as you go there and come back here, yes, you can go. Let us get some blood before you leave and we can test it with the rest of our samples so you can get the antibiotic when the people from the CDC get here. I'll page Nigel to have him meet you by the elevator. And think up a list of everyone you may have come in contact with since you found the infected Jane Doe."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Doctor M."

"You're welcome, Woody. If you need anything, my door is open." He smiled one more time, with more warmth than the last, and patted his arm companionably. "Seems you're truly part of the family now. Well, _again_."


	4. Chapter 4

**As always, thank you to everyone who has been reading and a special thanks to those who have been leaving reviews! I appreciate it all.**

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 4**

Jordan watched silently from inside her locked office as Woody rushed from Garret's and toward the elevators. Nigel sprinted out of Trace to meet him there with a syringe, rubber strip, and vial, but she couldn't see anything else, the angle of the hallway too sharp. So she stepped back from the window again and turned to the empty room, her head spinning. She knew Garret had given him realistic answers, had told him of the gravity of the situation when she had been resistant. But if she had told him – if she had dared to voice how nervous she was, how frightened – then it would have become real for them both. Her mortality would have been thrown in their faces one more time.

Now…now she could live in her bubble of denial for a little longer.

But being locked in this tiny space was terrible. She tossed her head from side to side, vainly attempting to find some kind of distraction from her swirling thoughts. Her laptop had been left somewhere in the chaos, the medical journals had either been read already or held nothing of interest, the texts on her shelves long since well perused. Nothing.

Feeling the walls starting to close in quickly, Jordan took a deep breath and paced to the other side of the room without purpose. She felt dizzy and nauseous, and her brain immediately tried panic into thinking those were symptoms even while her rational side knew they weren't. She was getting a headache. She began pacing for real then, a nearly frenzied back and forth line in front of her couch. If she stopped moving, the reality of everything would hit her, and then – no. She just shouldn't stop moving.

She recalled, more than six years ago now, telling someone just before they were arrested that she wasn't afraid of dying – that that was part of her problem. Therapists had pointed it out to her time and again since she was a teenager. _Why did you do that reckless thing that could have cost you your life, Jordan?_ they would ask. _Because I didn't care,_ was usually her response when she deigned to respond at all.

That was still true, wasn't it? She didn't care about living or dying. For most of her life she had just existed, bumbling through day to day. In fact, before she got sick she could only think of two times when she had truly feared for her life – the first time was when she had been kidnapped by Cahill as bait to kill her father, and the second was when she had been trapped in the mine with those two wounded boys. But then those didn't really count, did they? She wasn't worried for herself then, she was worried for others. For her father and the boys. What would have happened to them if she were to die.

_Do I still not care?_ She stopped pacing suddenly as the thought stopped her cold. _Am I just worried now because of Woody? Of what would happen to him if I died?_

When she had been sick, had been facing the surgery, the only thing that had frightened her was the possible outcome – being in a coma or a vegetative state for the rest of her life without the ability to end things herself. She'd said it before: Dying was a piece of cake. It was what happened in-between that –

_Stop_. Stop_. Of _course_ I care whether or not I live or die. I'm not the same person I was six years ago or ten years ago or twenty. My life has meaning now. Doesn't it? And I love Woody; I don't want to leave him._

People were darting up and down the hall, but she paid them as little attention as they gave her.

The dizziness grew with a throbbing in her head until she had to force herself to stop moving completely, and she dropped heavily into the chair behind her desk to dig out a bottle of ibuprofen. It would have to do until Woody got back with her perceptions. As she pulled out the bottle, though, a Post-it note in the drawer caught her eye. A phone number. Kayla's mother's phone number.

"God," Jordan muttered, staring at it for a long, painful minute. _Can this day get any worse?_ she thought, not even caring that those words usually did bring with them "worse". But then…this was another great hole in her heart. She popped four pills into her mouth to swallow dry and unstuck the sticky note from the file it had been attached to.

She had sent Kayla an email a few months ago, checking in and wishing her luck for her senior year of high school. The teenager had replied with an excited few sentences. That was most of the contact they'd had recently. When Jordan had gotten sick, she had lost sight of a lot. Her relationship with many of her close friends had suffered, and so it hadn't been surprising that the stretched bond she'd had with Kayla had been strained. _I wonder if she even cares?_

But then she remembered Kayla's devastated face when they parted that last day, and she picked up her phone and dialed. It rang four times before her mother answered.

"Hello?"

She sounded disinterested and distracted, and Jordan almost hung up. She bit her cheek, though, and forced herself to stop being selfish. Or was she being selfish for wanting to call in the first place? Kayla wasn't her daughter. What kind of comfort could this phone call bring? _Shit, maybe this wasn't a good idea after all._

"Hello?"

"Hey, hi – Mrs. Dawson, it's Jordan Cavanaugh." The words tumbled out, and she felt her cheeks flame.

Immediately the other woman's demeanor brightened. "Oh, Doctor Cavanaugh! How wonderful to hear from you!"

"Jordan, just Jordan. Please."

"Jordan, then." There was a clanging as Mrs. Dawson most likely set down the pot she was using to make dinner. "Kayla was just talking about you the other day. She will be so thrilled. I want to thank you again for everything you did for my daughter, Doctor Cavanaugh," she went on to say, continuing to use the formality anyway. "I know you were just looking after her for a few weeks, but it means the world to us both."

"I was only doing the right thing, Mrs. Dawson," Jordan demurred. For some reason that rubbed her the wrong way, and she wished Kayla had picked up so she wouldn't have had to talk to her mother instead – this woman who had appeared from nowhere to take away her own single chance at motherhood. _This is her_ mother. _Stop thinking that way._ "Is, um, is Kayla there? Can I talk with her for a few minutes?"

"Of course! Just a second." She held the phone away and called off, "Kayla, honey, you have a phone call! It's Doctor Cavanaugh!"

Jordan closed her eyes and slid down in the chair until her head could lean against the back of it. Damned formalities. She had told her to use her first name. Why didn't she listen? Why didn't anyone listen?

"Jordan? Is it really you?"

"Hey, Kayla," she whispered, hardly trusting herself to speak when the teenager's happy voice filtered over the line and her mother hung up. "It's really me. How're you doing, baby?"

"I'm okay." Her wide smile was obvious, and Jordan couldn't help but smile, too. "I miss you, though."

Tears welled under her eyelids. Jordan tried to keep her sniffle discreet as she responded. "Oh, Kayla, I miss you, too. I miss you so much. So tell me! How's school going? You're almost done."

"Being a senior is awesome! I finally got into the AP art class this semester – you know, the one I was trying to get into last year? My portfolio is almost done." She giggled in that giddy way only teenage girls have, making Jordan's heart flutter. "My portfolio! Can you believe that? I don't think I want to go to art school, though. I've sent out lots of applications, but I still don't know where I want to go. My mom didn't go to college, so I don't really know what to do. You went to Tufts, right?"

The wide range in that one conversation brought a smile to her lips as her eyes darted over to her framed diplomas. "Yeah, I went to Tufts and the University of Massachusetts. I loved them both. But hey, don't let me be your example! I was a really bad student in high school, with all the bad attitudes and skipped classes. I'm still surprised I got into college at all." They both laughed. "Where did you apply?"

"Well, my art teacher talked me into submitting an application to the Savannah College of Art and Design, but I dunno if I'm good enough to get in there. It's also in Georgia, which is, like, really far away. I also applied to University of New Jersey, and UMass and Boston College here. My SAT scores were really high, so that's good. I just don't know what I want to _do_, you know?" The girl paused, and Jordan wished she could see her, could take her into her arms again. "How did you know what _you_ wanted to do?"

"Well, I actually didn't know I would end up in this field until I…ended up here."

"Really?" There was hope in that one word. Maybe finding this number had been fate for them both.

"Yeah, _really_. I mean, I kind of knew I wanted to be a doctor, but that dream was so vague. I was just plodding through school, as most students do, when my door opened." Tactfully leaving out the sordid details of wrongful deaths and suicide attempts, she tried her best to give what advice she could. "You'll find your calling. Hey, mine took, what? Over fifteen years to really come out?" She smiled again. "I'm so proud of you."

"Why? That's something my _mom_ says."

"You're not letting the past hold you down," Jordan said softly. "It took me more than half my life to learn to let go, and I still have some major issues with that. You're going to be okay, Kayla."

Before either of them could continue, there was a sharp tapping at the window by Jordan's door. Nigel and Bug were there with the kit to set up the sterilized "door" between her office and the outside world so things could be passed from one to the other. Nigel pointed to her, then to the door and raised his eyebrows, obviously in a hurry.

"Kayla, sweetheart, I'm sorry but I need to run."

"Oh, okay." Her disappointment was palpable even over the phone.

Jordan's tears sprang back again and she turned her back to the men waiting impatiently for her so she could brush them away and finish her conversation with some semblance of privacy. Nigel tapped the glass again, but she ignored him. "There's a lot going on right now, but I would love to see you soon. Maybe lunch in a few weekends?" _If I survive that long._

"Yeah, that would be awesome. I want to tell you about my boyfriend, too."

"Boyfriend!" She sat up straighter, wanting to ask more, but Nigel angrily prodded the glass a third time and she let it slide. "Next time. I love you, baby. Remember that, okay?"

"Sure. You're okay, right?" Kayla asked suddenly, able to tell that something was amiss and lacking the subtle ability to find out exactly what that was. "You're not, like, dying or anything are you?"

"Everything is fine," Jordan lied smoothly, though it hurt her to do so. "I'll see you soon."

They said their goodbyes and the M.E. slid the phone back into its receiver before turning a vicious glare to Nigel. "You can do that without me!" she snapped, raising her voice to be heard through the window. True enough, Bug had already started; the two-way passage was almost halfway finished, just lacking the tubing for the sanitizing air. "I was busy!"

Nigel's mood was turning out to be just as foul as hers, though, and he held up a needle and three vials. "Doctor M. wants me to draw blood from you," he told her irately. "I need to suit up and come inside. Like I don't have other things I can be doing than dealing with your rank attitude for fifteen minutes. It's like entering a starving lion's den."

She clenched her jaw, glancing toward the ever-calm Bug (who was doing his best to stay out of their growing argument). "Give me those. I'll draw it myself so you can go do those _other things_ and stay away from the scary lion."

"Yourself?" He glanced at her askance. "One handed? Please. Even the amazing Jordan Cavanaugh can't draw her own blood one handed."

"From my leg with both hands, you ass. Just pass the needle and stuff through when Bug is done. Since you're not -"

"Guys!"

They looked over at Bug in surprise. His face was pinched, and Jordan felt a sting of shame. They were all in the same boat here. She saw Nigel's face relax out of the corner of her eyes and she could tell all was forgiven. "This'll be done in a few minutes," Bug continued. "Nigel, leave this stuff and go away. I'll give it to her and then back to you when she's done."

Nigel sighed and gently handed off the supplies to Bug, giving Jordan a small, apologetic smile that she returned before going back off down the hallway. She wished she could follow him and be free of these walls, but she had the feeling she was going to be in here for a while longer.

"Give me a few more minutes," Bug was saying, and she looked back down to where he was kneeling to secure a seal along the floor. "We have a radio for you, too, to make it easier to talk."

She just nodded, quickly losing the will to communicate at all. But then her friend met her eyes, and they both felt the connection they had found – the one that had been forged the day she returned to work after her surgery as they sat on the floor together – flare back to life through the panic. Of everyone here, he understood what she was feeling, just as she understood what he was. Very slowly, she took a deep breath through the briefly subdued panic.

_We walk around thinking we're in control of our lives,_ she had said that day. _We're not._

No. We're not.


	5. Chapter 5

As always, thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I always appreciate it.

Happy New Year!

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 5**

Woody ran around Jordan's apartment - _their _apartment - like a madman, pulling open drawers and shoving clothes unceremoniously into a duffel bag. Shirts, jeans, a pair of slacks, flannel pajamas, underwear, a bra, a pair of shoes, her medicines. He even grabbed a thing of her favorite yogurt and some other snacks from the kitchen to tide her over for the night. He had no idea how long she would have to be locked up in that tiny room, or what she would need, or what she might _want_. The thought alone almost killed him.

And so it was with no hesitation that he filled another duffel bag with clothes of his own; if she was camping out at the morgue, then so was he. A quick phone call to his Chief and brief explanation was all it took to get his case load lightened (which would have had to happen, anyway, once the CDC got involved and put him in quarantine, too).

He sprinted to the bed and tossed both of their pillows over to join the two duffel bags, then pulled open the drawer in her bedside table to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. A small bottle of her almond-cherry scented hand cream joined the mess of stuff. Another not-so-innocent bottle of lotion brought a grin to his lips and was definitely left behind. But then something caught his eye near the bottom of the drawer - a piece of paper with _Dad _and a phone number scribbled across it. It wasn't Max's cell number, which Woody already knew, but a different one. He took the paper and stashed it in his wallet.

The apartment felt dead without her there, and he hastened to gather everything up, refusing to even think about that. "She's going to be fine," he told himself out loud just as he had told her. One bag slung over each shoulder and a pillow in each arm, he shuffled out the door and down to his car.

xXx

By the time he got back that night, a plastic barrier had been set up around the door to Jordan's office so that things could be passed back and forth. She had been given her laptop and a few new medical journals, but he could still see from down the hall that she was pacing the center of the room like a caged tiger. As soon as he was close enough, she pointed toward something on the floor by the outer plastic flap. A walkie-talkie. She had one inside. Woody picked it up.

"What in the world is all that stuff for?" she asked immediately, a wry grin on her face. It was strange to hear her voice so distorted through the radio, even when she was standing so close.

"Only half of it's yours," he told her as he unzipped the first section of heavy plastic and slid her bag, pillow, and the food inside. A puff of some kind of sanitized air poured in through one vent, then was sucked out by another before she opened her office door and unzipped the other side to bring everything inside and to her desk. He followed her movements out in the hallway. "I'm staying here with you. Did you really think I was going to let you be here alone?" Before she would have a chance to argue, he gestured through the window to the plastic bag she was poking through. "I brought you a little thing of that yogurt you like, and a bag of trail mix and some fruit. Thought you might be hungry. Oh, there's a plastic spoon in there, too."

"Thank you, Woody." She paused and lowered her radio, looking away from him for a long moment.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." The response was clipped as she rushed to bring the walkie-talkie back up, and she walked over to the window in an attempt to be closer to him. "I-I'm just tired, I guess. Are you really going to stay?"

"Of course I am." He reached out toward the glass as though he'd be able to touch her face through it. "I'm going to stay right here in the hallway until they let me in there with you."

"That's really bad for your back, you know." She smiled wanly at him, knowing it was useless to argue and not wanting to anyway.

"I'll deal with that later. Where is everyone?" he asked, realizing for the first time that the hallways were completely empty. It was awfully quiet, too; the central air system had been shut down to stop the bacteria from spreading.

Jordan's eyes darted down the hallway, too. "The first person from Atlanta got here about thirty minutes ago. Everyone is in a meeting to figure out what to do. Everyone but _me_. A hazmat suit and everything, man. At first, anyway. She took it off eventually." She shook her head. "I'm so jealous. Why does Garret get to have all the fun while I'm stuck in here?"

"Because Garret didn't have a tumor in his brain last year."

She just huffed and dropped her radio again, mouthing a string of bad words at him through the window with a nasty glare.

"Eat your yogurt," he told her softly with absolutely no drive behind the command, making it more of a suggestion than anything. But she obliged him anyway, digging through the reused shopping bag to find the little carton and spoon. "I'll go find Doctor Macy as soon as the meeting is over, if he doesn't come straight here."

"Good." Jordan watched him for a moment as something unspoken passed between them. Then they moved as one to sit on the floor as the weight of the day took hold, back to back with only the wall between them.

"Are you eating?" he asked over the radio.

"Yes," she answered, though she really wasn't. Her eyes slid closed and she leaned her head against the wall, knowing that he was doing the same on the other side. It was an odd kind of intimacy, and she almost wished that they had never had to discover it, this bonding through separation. They'd already had to do far too much of that over the years. A tear dropped down her cheek and she swatted it angrily away. She was frightened, and being locked in this room was helping _nothing_. In fact, it was just making her antsy and even more anxious. The one tear turned into two, then six, and then they just started pouring silently down her face. She was so glad the radio was push-to-talk.

As if knowing exactly where her thoughts were going, Woody's voice crackled over the radio again before they could get any worse. "Have I ever told you about the first time I rode a horse?" She shook her head and even without being able to see the gesture, he continued with his story. "I was young, just turned eight, and Cal and I had this big fight. We were staying with my aunt and uncle that weekend while my dad worked; they have this huge farm and use horses to ride out to far fields. Anyway, it was late and the adults had already gone to sleep. But I was so mad at Cal! So I pulled on my boots and stomped out into the barn just looking for trouble."

Jordan chuckled, picturing a chubby little boy doing just that, and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Now _this_...this was helping. She was so glad he came back. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, listening to his words and letting them wash over her.

"They'd just bought this young chestnut mare. She was stubborn as she could be. A lot like you, in that way. Wouldn't take a command from anyone." He paused, probably waiting for her to make some kind of rude comment, but she just snorted. "Her name was Petunia. My uncle had left her out in the paddock that night. I still don't know what got into me, but I went into the tack room and got a halter, lead rope, and a carrot from the big bag he kept in there, and then went out to the pasture to call Petunia over. She came right to me. So while she was distracted with the carrot, I slipped the halter on her, opened the gate, and used the fence to lever myself onto her back like I knew what I was doing."

He paused, the unnatural silence chilling him to the bone. Jordan didn't respond or prompt him from behind the wall and, almost beginning to feel lost, he took a breath to continue. "She ran off, with me only just able to hold on for dear life. Out the open gate, through the pasture, and into the woods. It was after midnight at this point. Pitch black, no one even knew where I was or what I was doing. But I had this sense of freedom I'd never felt before, you know? Like I was finally able to catch a glimpse of myself without Cal and without my dad's anger and without the pain of losing my mom. It wasn't until a few minutes later, when I really realized what I had done, that I started to get scared. The part of the woods Petunia ran into was thick and overgrown because my uncle didn't use any of that land for farming, so there were leaves and branches hitting me all over. I held on for as long as I could, but a big branch I didn't even see hit me right in the head and I went flying to the ground. Petunia kept running. I landed on a bunch of rocks and bruised a few ribs, and I had no idea where I was. So I just lied there, covered in blood and leaves and dirt, crying and frightened and sure I was going to die right there at eight years old."

Jordan still didn't respond - the radio was no longer even in her hand - but a very faint smile touched her lips and only just reached her closed eyes as he continued painting the picture for her.

"I don't remember much else in the woods after that. Petunia had gone back to graze in a nearby paddock and my uncle found her a few hours later, noticed I was gone, and put two and two together pretty quickly. I woke up in the hospital a day later. My dad was furious. 'Who would have taken care of Cal?' he asked." Woody shook his head, remembering it clearly. The emotional burden - the pain of it all - had been terrible as a child, even though he hadn't understood what, exactly, was weighing so heavily on his shoulders. "But my uncle... My uncle had been _proud_. He was the first person after my mother to ever be proud of me. The next time I was at his farm, he took me out to the barn and showed me how to take care of the horses. I was terrified at first. I mean, I had just been in a pretty bad accident, right? Even if it was my own fault. So he took me aside and told me about President Roosevelt - don't you dare laugh, Jordan - and his famous speech. He quoted most of it for me, but the gist of it is, 'the only thing we have to fear is fear itself'."

He fell silent for a moment, realizing how fitting the story was. Jordan still wasn't speaking, but he knew she was listening. And as much as he wanted to hear her voice and know she was okay, that would have to do. He could practically feel her anxious energy through the wall, mirroring his as he leaned back. "It's okay to be afraid, Jo," he told her quietly. "But don't let that fear hold you back or prevent you from being the person you want to be. I'm sorry, that sounded trite, didn't it?"

"No." The word was soft and broken over the radio, and he could tell that she had been crying. But he didn't say anything, just thrilled to hear her speak at all. "No, it didn't. Thank you, Woody."

She was quiet again, the little radio not making another sound as she set it down. He stared at it, not knowing what else to do to keep her from withdrawing. More than anything, he did not want her to revert to the woman she had been after her initial diagnosis with the tumor...and that was exactly where she was headed. What else could he do with this wall between them when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms?

Suddenly a door down the hall opened and a handful of people spilled out, talking amongst themselves. The meeting was over. Nigel, Kate, and Bug wandered toward Kate's office and closed the door behind them, but Garret came toward Jordan's with a new woman behind him. Woody got to his feet, his eyes wide. Making sure the radio was opened so Jordan would hear the entire exchange, he clipped it to his belt and shook Garret's hand.

"Where's Jordan?" Dr. Macy asked, his eyes immediately roving over her seemingly empty office.

"Asleep," Woody answered a bit too quickly. "Um, she's against the wall. Right here."

Garret craned his head and peered inside the window as though not quite willing to take the detective's word for it. All he could see was the top of a dark head, the very tip of her nose, and her knees, where she had them held against her chest. The radio was on the floor beside her and she made no motion to reach for it. In fact, she didn't move at all. Definitely not asleep, and definitely not doing well. But he had the good grace not to mention that. "Okay," he said instead. "Woody, this is Doctor Claudia Lancaster with the CDC headquarters in Atlanta. Doctor Lancaster, this is Woody Hoyt, the detective who found the first body."

The woman stepped forward and gave Woody a big, comforting smile. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in a braid, and she quickly pushed some fly-aways from her bright face before offering him her hand. "Just Claudia, please. It's great to meet you, Detective. And your wife, too, even if she is asleep. I've heard wonderful things about you both." He opened his mouth, possibly to attempt to correct her idea of their relationship, but Claudia continued quickly before he had a chance. Jordan remained silent, even though she could hear every word. "Now. Garret here tells me you'd like to be brought up to speed, is that right? First of all, I brought enough antibiotics for everyone, and as soon as y'all's blood work comes back we'll start dispensing it. That will keep you clean while we investigate the origin and track it down." She paused, exchanging a quick look with Garret that Woody didn't miss.

He shifted from foot to foot anxiously. "What about Jordan?" he asked, knowing that's what they were trying to bring up.

"Well," the blonde woman said cautiously, "due to her complications, Doctor Cavanaugh will be unable to take the antibiotics with the rest of you. So, even if her blood comes back clear - which we fully expect it will! - she won't be able to leave this building until the contagion is contained. With her being unable to guard her body against the bacteria, she could be carrying it without knowing; we can't risk her bringing it outside."

"Typhoid Mary," he muttered under his breath, his gaze moving restlessly down the hall.

Claudia touched his arm gently in compassion and gave him a small smile that reached her light blue eyes. "Exactly. You've been around for a while, I take it?"

"Long enough to understand a few things, I guess." He tried to return her smile, but it came out pained. "What else will you be doing?"

"Garret has been kind enough to lend me the assistance of...Nigel, is his name? So he and I will be analyzing the bacterial strain to see if we can track where it came from. Hopefully we have this particular one on file already. Makes containment that much easier."

"Right." All of that went right over Woody's head, but he knew Jordan understood it all and he was glad he asked. "Thank you, Claudia."

"Don't mention it." She gave him another grin. "I'll be camping out here with the rest of you guys, so let me know if you have any questions. I look forward to meeting Doctor Cavanaugh for real next time. Your wife sounds like an incredible woman."

Garret stepped forward then, meeting Woody's eyes and giving him a very subtle shrug as if to say, _I have no idea where she got that information._"Let's get you settled before we go find Nigel."

Woody watched them walk off for a moment before looking into the window of Jordan's office, only to see the same lacking view of her that Macy had seen. Swallowing back a discomforting wave of anxiety, he lowered himself back to the floor and unclipped the radio from his belt. "They're gone," he told her softly. "Did you get all of the information you wanted?"

Her answer was so long in coming, that he almost thought he wouldn't get one. Maybe she really had fallen asleep. Or, more likely, she had withdrawn even more without him in there to at least try to prevent that. This was taking more out of her than she would ever admit. But, finally, the radio in his hand crackled. "Yeah. So, um, she thinks we're married?"

"Oh, my God," Woody moaned, lowering his head as his heart dropped into his stomach. Having her withdraw _and _feel pressured? Such bad timing. "I am so sorry, Jo, I didn't know how to correct her. She just kept _talking_."

But to his incredible surprise, she just gave a very light chuckle. "It's okay. I bet Nige put that idea in her head."

"Are you okay, Jordan? And please, tell me the truth."

Inside her office, Jordan sighed and rubbed at her face with one hand. That was a loaded question and they both knew it. No. She was so far from okay, that 'okay' may as well have been on another planet. It was hard to tell if she had really calmed down or if she had just gone numb to it all. After everything she had been through in the last two years... _No, I've already wallowed in this enough. Stop it._ But she refused to tell Woody any of this. Not yet. Not when she couldn't see him, or touch him, or even really talk to him. So she just took his words at face value for the time being. She'd tell him about all the rest later. She _would_. "I feel fine. Just tired."

He knew exactly what she was doing, and she was glad when he didn't push. Instead, he said, "Go lie on your couch and get some sleep."

"No, I -" _I want to stay close to you_, is what she nearly admitted, but the words caught in her throat and wouldn't come out. "I'm okay here. Really."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to all of my readers, and especially to my reviewers. Every one of you brightens my day. I hope 2013 is treating you all well so far!**

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**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 6**

Woody was woken many hours later by a gentle hand on his arm and a soft voice calling his name. The first thing he was aware of was a sharp pain in his back from having fallen asleep slumped against the wall with his pillow as the only buffer, his duffle bag as an arm rest of sorts. He slowly opened his eyes, confused and not sure where he was for a moment. "Jordan?"

Then the morgue hallway come into focus and, much to his surprise, Kate was kneeling beside him with a file in her hand. He quickly sat up straight, running a hand over his cheek in an attempt to fully wake up. "What? What's wrong?"

But Kate just gave him a small smile. "Nothing is wrong, Detective. Actually," she continued, holding up the chart, "everyone's blood panels came back. We put a rush on them. We're all negative for the bacteria."

"Even Jordan?" Woody was already on his feet, heart pounding as he looked through the window for her. She must have been against the wall, though; he couldn't see her.

"Even Jordan." Kate rose as well and walked to the door in front of him to start tugging at the barrier. "She can't leave the morgue yet, but she can come out of her office now – and you can go in."

"Thank God," he breathed, just giving her enough time to clear space in front of the doorknob before reaching for it blindly. All he could think about was getting to Jordan, holding her, kissing her, whispering in her ear this time that she would be okay - and now there was proof. It had only been a day. That wasn't long enough for her to withdraw completely, right?

The latch on the door released, and he practically fell into the office in his haste, his gaze instantly finding her curled in the corner in the same place he had been outside. Tears pricked his eyes. "Jo..."

Not waiting for her to wake up, he rushed over and sank to the floor, gathering her into his arms and hiding his face against her warm neck. "It's okay now, Jordan."

The jostling was enough to rouse her, though, and she gasped against him in shock. "Oh, my God, Woody, what are you doing!"

She started to pull away from him, but Woody just held her tighter, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. "The results came back. No one is sick. _You're _not sick. You're going to be okay." She sagged against him with that, unable to hold back a quickly stifled sob.

"A-are you sure?"

"Positive," Kate said from the doorway. She had finished taking down the covering, leaving it in a pile on the floor. "You're good."

"Oh, my God…" she sighed so softly only Woody could hear. But then she sniffed quietly and started to disentangle herself from his arms to look at Kate. "Did, um, did the tests only check for the _Y. pestis_?"

The other doctor nodded and stepped forward to hand her the file, a somewhat awkward look on her face as she got closer to the couple still on the floor. "Yes. That's why we were able to put such a rush on it. Everyone came back clean. Were you looking for something else?"

Jordan glanced quickly over the papers in the file, but Kate was right and there was nothing else of interest there other than the fact that she had once again escaped death. "No, nothing."

"Jo." Woody watched her closely, far too aware of the small lie she had just told. He reached out and brushed away the stray tear that had escaped down her cheek, and her eyes darted over to meet his. Her fear of the continuing unknown was obvious, but she wasn't going to open up to him now. Even as he watched, her wall was being rebuilt. He moved his hand to cup her face, not knowing what else to do as she retreated further into herself. "Jordan, sweetheart…"

Whether or not she was going to respond was lost as Claudia poked her head into the room and greeted them all with a cheerful, "Good morning! May I come in?"

Jordan gave Woody a small smile before pulling away from him completely and getting to her feet. "Yeah, of course."

Claudia came into the room and extended her hand. "Claudia Lancaster. It is so nice to meet you, Doctor Cavanaugh. Or do you go by Hoyt now? Nigel didn't specify."

"Oh, um – Cavanaugh. You can call me Jordan." Behind her Woody's face flamed, but he couldn't help but be surprised that, once again, she didn't try to set the record straight even if she was a little flustered. She took Claudia's hand. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"I take it y'all got the good news, then?" She looked between the three people, trying to keep up her cheerfulness when she caught Kate's awkward stance and Woody's nervous energy. "It's definitely a good start! Though I'm sorry you and Doctor Vijay can't go home just yet. Woody, Kate, I have the antibiotic here, you can both take the first round. You'll be free to go by dinner."

Jordan crossed her arms and paced over to her desk, unsure of what to do with herself now as Woody and Kate followed Claudia out into the hallway to get the pills. The threat was still far from over. Just because she had come out of the first blood test unscathed didn't mean she would be able to avoid the bacteria indefinitely. Especially since she wasn't able to take the antibiotics.

In the hall, Woody took two pills from a paper cup and chased them down with a swig of water from the bottle Claudia handed him. "Thank you," he said. And then, with a quick look to Kate, he repeated, "Thank you, too."

Kate grinned before walking off. "No problem."

"So, Detective," Claudia started, gesturing he could keep the bottle when he tried to hand it back. "The State is ordering the entire staff – as well as everyone else who has been stuck here – breakfast. Pancakes or scrambled eggs and bacon. What can I put you and your wife down for?"

She gave him a wide, expectant smile. Woody just bit his lip uncomfortably. "Um…pancakes, I guess. For both of us. But, uh, we're not actually married. Yet, I mean. If it ever happens. I don't know why Nigel told you that. I think it's a running joke with them now." He stopped himself, realizing with a rush that he was rambling.

Claudia's eye's widened and her cheeks colored. "Oh, my goodness! Oh…oh, man, this is so embarrassing. What, is this 'initiate the new kid' or something? Gosh." She covered her face with her hand. "I've read so much about Doctor Cavanaugh, and I was so excited about meeting her. I mean, the works she's had published in medical journals have been absolutely incredible! Now I've really put my foot in my mouth, haven't I?"

A few years ago, the answer to that question would have been an irrefutable, _yes_. But now, apparently, Jordan was letting it slide right off. Which was odd in itself, though he didn't say so. Keeping this in mind, Woody shrugged and gave her a small smile. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. Jo's probably too preoccupied to really care right now."

"Of course! What's the matter with me?" She sighed and shook her head. "Gracious. Just because I'm used to this kind of stuff doesn't mean you guys are. I'll just go now, leave you two alone. Need to make sure everyone gets the antibiotics, anyway."

He watched her turn and walk off, pulling a notebook out of her pocket to check a list of names before going to find whoever was left to take the pills. Woody took a steadying breath before turning in the other direction back toward Jordan's office. She had closed the door again, and for some reason Woody's heart began to thud as he knocked once and let himself inside. She was standing in front of the circular window, looking out over the street below with a glazed and exhausted expression on her face. She had picked up her pillow and other belongings from the floor and placed them on the coffee table.

"Hey," he whispered quietly, as though worried he might startle her.

She didn't look at him. "Hey."

"Claudia took a breakfast order. Apparently we're getting pancakes. It's okay if you don't want to eat them, though. We'll probably get a free lunch, too." There was no response, so he walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind so she could continue looking out the window. "Are you okay?"

She was silent for a moment before responding dryly with, "No, I am definitely not okay."

"Talk to me, Jordan," Woody implored, dipping his face to rest against her shoulder and pressing a light kiss there. "Please."

"Not right now, Woody," she murmured before twisting in his arms and putting a hand to his cheek. "I…I just can't deal with it all right now, okay? The last time something like this happened, I found out I had a tumor in my brain. The time before?" She gave a mirthless laugh. "Elaine died. I guess I need to sort it out myself before I try to talk about it out loud, and it's going to take some time. Just don't…go anywhere."

"No, of course I won't leave." He tugged her against his chest, tucking her head under his chin and cradling it there as he held her tightly. "Take all the time you need. I won't go anywhere." He felt a damp spot start to appear on his shirt and he knew she was trying very hard not to start sobbing, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he stroked her hair gently and said, "You must be worn out. Come on, let's sit down."

They went over to the couch and sank down together, Woody leaning back against the corner and Jordan immediately pulling her feet up so she could fall against him sideways. Their arms wrapped around the other without thinking. Woody took a deep breath, taking solace in the fact that she was close enough now that he could smell her intoxicating scent. He needed to keep her talking. If not about something important, then about anything at all before she shut down entirely.

"So, um, Claudia mentioned that you've been published?"

"What?" Jordan lifted her head just enough to give him an inquisitive stare, raising an eyebrow as she caught on to what he was doing. But then she sighed and lowered her head to his chest again, giving him this one. "Yeah. Two times, a while ago. Nothing big, really – just some interesting medical findings from cases, that's all. Claudia read those?"

"Yeah, apparently. She thinks you're brilliant."

She did laugh at that. "_Please_. I was pressured by Nigel and Garret to submit those essays. I never even read the journals they were published in. Guess I'm not one for fame, huh?" She paused for a moment, recalling each time more fondly than she thought she would. "Garret got copies, though. They're on my bookshelf somewhere."

Woody ran his hand over her hair as she spoke, more relieved that he could express to be there with her. The conversation died out then and Jordan did nothing to keep it going.

Very quietly, Woody whispered, "Hey, I'm going to need to run by the precinct to talk to my chief once we're released. Would you, uh, like me to go back by our place and bring you your guitar? Or something?"

He felt stupid as soon as the question was out of her mouth but a faint smile touched Jordan's lips. She ran her hand across his chest and let it rest right above his heart. "No. But thank you for offering. That guitar hasn't been here since I was living in the morgue," she added with a light laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood and bring it away from the position they were in.

"You used to live in the morgue? Okay, now this is a story I have to hear."

xXx

"Are you sure?" Garret asked into the phone a few hours later. "Absolutely positive?"

The person on the other end responded and the M.E. scribbled something on a piece of paper. Then he hung up, hastily stood, and dashed from his office. His first impulse was to find Jordan, but there was no way he was going to let her be involved in this. Bug, then. And Claudia. Still, though…

"Jordan!" he bellowed as he ran down the hall toward the Crypt.

Even though he was headed in the opposite direction from her office, she heard her name being called and flung her door open in time to see him running off. "Garret! What's going on?"

He motioned for her to follow. "Another body is being brought in. Put on a mask, find Bug, and come on."

"Wait, you're actually letting me help?"

"Yes. Don't make me regret it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank y'all for sticking with me! I always appreciate knowing my work is being read and enjoyed.**

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**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 7**

"No, you are absolutely not performing the autopsy. If you ask me again, I won't even let you in the room."

Garret fixed Jordan with a firm stare that she just shrugged off, but she knew he was right. Victim number three was being wheeled into the autopsy bay, where Bug and Claudia were already prepping. Macy had conceded to Jordan's insistent request to be included in this part on the condition that she wear a hazmat suit and not touch the body. She had a feeling Woody would have loudly protested this, had he been there, but he had taken off to meet with his chief about an hour before they had gotten the call.

"Fine," Jordan mumbled behind him as she followed toward Autopsy, giving up on making another grab for the files in his hand. "But I mean, if I'm going to be in the room anyway…"

"Drop it."

"Whatever." She clapped him on the back in good spirits, hiding how frightened she was feeling. A small part of her wished Woody was already back, but that was irrational, she knew. All he would do was tell her what a bad idea it was to be so close to another infected body – much less all three at once, which was what they were preparing now. "Do we know who this is?"

Garret shook his head and held open the door to the ladies' locker room to make sure she actually went inside to shower and get a clean hazmat suit. "Jane Doe right now. Nigel is running her prints as we speak."

Jordan started to go in, but then she stopped suddenly and turned to her boss. "Hey, come in here with me for a second. I, uh, I need to talk to you." He gave her an odd look that said he was about to refuse, so she grabbed his arm to forcibly drag him inside and locked the door behind them.

He glared at her, shaking his arm out of her iron grip in mild annoyance and slapped the files he was holding down onto one of the benches. "You're certainly happy to be out of your cage, aren't you?" he muttered under his breath, knowing it was useless to try to get past her back out into the hall. "Can this wait? You have an autopsy to observe, remember?"

"No. This can't wait." She leaned back against the door to make his escape even more difficult.

"Fine, Jordan. What do you want?"

"I…" But then she paused and dropped his gaze, finding the words much harder to say than they had seemed in her head when she had planned them out earlier. "I need you to promise me something, Garret."

"And what would that be?" She didn't answer right away, and Garret took a step forward when she wouldn't meet his eyes this time, instead staring blindly at the sinks. "Jordan?" he asked softly, growing worried. "What is it?"

"If…if something happens to me – if I _die_, I need you to promise me that you'll look after Woody. That all of you will."

"Jordan -"

"Promise me, Garret."

"Come on -"

"Promise!"

He just stared at her, his mouth falling open as tears welled in her eyes with her raised voice. She clenched her jaw stubbornly, not wanting him to see her cry even as she looked at him again. Her fear for the detective was palpable. "You're actually serious."

"Yes, I'm serious! Why would I _joke_ about something like that? He's going to ask me to marry him," she spilled suddenly, wringing her fingers. "So when I die -"

"If," Garret interrupted, taking her shoulders in his hands and shaking her once. "_If_."

"- it will be his wife who leaves him, Garret. Not his girlfriend. His wife. And…and I'm afraid that might kill him, unless he has you guys to take care of him after I'm gone." The tears leaked down over her cheeks then, and she let Garret pull her into a tight embrace without argument. "Please. I need to hear you promise."

"Of course I will, Jordan," he whispered into her hair, his throat tight. "We all will. But you're not going to die. Not from this virus, and not from the meningioma. You're going to get old enough to be put into a home where you can verbally abuse your nurses with your _husband_ at your side asking you to calm down because his pension won't cover another home when they kick you out of that one, too. Jeez."

"Oh, so you won't be paying me enough to pad my retirement fund? I thought we talked about this."

Garret just held her tighter and laughed when she used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at her eyes. "So when's the big day?"

"There isn't one," she told him firmly in a voice that said she'd deny everything if he said a word to anyone. "He hasn't actually _proposed_ yet. I think he's waiting to make sure I won't turn tail at the very thought of a permanent commitment."

"And you won't?" her boss asked, rather surprised. "I seem to remember your relationship with JD deteriorating quickly as soon as things turned serious. You told me way too much about all that."

Jordan pulled away and swatted his arm, but then she gave him a small smile. "This is different."

"Maybe because you were in love with the detective while you were with the reporter?"

"Shut it, Mister Psychoanalyst." The breath puffed out of her lungs and her eyebrows scrunched in reflection. "I was actually thinking of just asking him myself. He's so _nervous_."

"Don't," Garret warned seriously. "Let him figure it out in his own time. It'll be sappy and romantic, and everything you both want it to be."

"You're right. And besides, I think he's going to ask me to buy a house with him first. I guess that's a good first step." She moved away from the door, finally giving him access to an escape route. "Just a warning – I'll be coming to discuss a raise soon. With a new house in my future and all."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Hey, it was worth a shot." She shrugged and grabbed a towel from the linen closet. "Guess it's time to go do some observing, huh?"

"Jordan -" Garret stopped her retreat to the showers, not sure yet if this was a good idea but not wanting to let her just leave with it left unsaid. She needed another friend through this. "Woody told me. About the…complications with your medications. How are you doing?"

She stared at him with a blank expression on her face for a long, silent minute. Then she pinched her lips in a mixture of stale anger and renewed fears and turned away. "I'm _fine_. He shouldn't have told you that."

"He wants you to talk to him, Jo."

"And what am I supposed to say?" she suddenly snapped, her playful mood from before gone in a flash as she spun back around. "'I know you love me and I love you, but I can't give you the one thing I know you want'? Or how about 'if I stop taking these meds that are preventing me from getting pregnant I could keel over and die'? Or even better, 'why don't we call it quits now before you start to resent me'?"

"Oh, Jordan…" Garret took a step forward, only to stop when she shook her head vehemently and held up her hands. "Why on earth do you think Woody is going to start to resent you?"

Tears sprung to her eyes again, and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. "Like I said – he's going to ask me to marry him. Everyone knows it, right?"

"So? What does that have to do with resentment?"

"Woody wants kids, Garret! Kids that I can't give him! He can say now that he's fine with that, but what if…what if he…I don't want to lose him over this. Not after everything we've - "

"Jordan, stop." Her friend came forward despite her protests and took her shoulders like he had done before, forcing her to look at him. "That man loves you more than life itself. He has for years. Right now he's scared – scared of losing you, too, and scared that you are pulling away from him for reasons that he can't understand because _you're not talking to him._ So stop bottling all of this up and tell him. Now seems like a pretty good occasion, being stuck together for an undetermined amount of time, don't you think?"

He gave her a small smile that she tentatively began to return. "Fine. Now can I get ready for my autopsy?"

"To _observe_ the autopsy. Yes, you may."

xXx

Woody returned a little over an hour later to find Jordan's office empty. The break room, the lab, Garret's office, he even risked poking his head into the locker room to try to hear water running. Returning to the vacant office to set down the bags of takeout he had brought for their dinner, he went off again on a more thorough search. He knew she could drop off the face of the earth when she didn't want to be found, but now?

With everyone in the clear to leave – everyone but Jordan, and Bug unable to actually go home so he was likely still here somewhere as well – the morgue was like a tomb and just as quiet. He was tempted to call out her name, but he felt silly. She was _here_. He just couldn't find her. Which was probably why his heart was starting to feel tight. Right? Right.

He felt a brief wave of relief when he found Nigel in Trace running a set of fingerprints. The analyst gave him a nod before turning back to his bank of screens. "Detective."

"Where's Jordan?"

"Hello to you, too," Nigel muttered, giving him another glance with a playful grin. "I thought you two were joined at the hip. Is such a pithy separation really giving you so much anxiety? Perhaps some space would do you good."

"Nigel, I'm serious." Woody came to stand next to him, his eyes wide. "I can't find her. It's not like she can leave."

"Relax, mate. She's in Autopsy."

That took the detective by surprise. "What? Why?"

"You don't know? Well, no, I guess not; it all happened so quickly." Nigel stopped what he was doing and turned on his stool. "Another infected body came in not long after you left. Those are her fingerprints I'm running," he added with a gesture toward the computer. "Bug and Claudia are doing the autopsy, but Garret is letting Jordan observe. Well, I use the term 'observe' rather loosely. He's in there with her to make sure she's not doing the autopsy herself. We pulled the other two bodies from the crypt for comparison."

"She's in there?" he yelped, jumping back and almost making for the door. "But – but – what about contamination or, or the bacteria or whatever it is?"

"She's wearing a suit," the criminologist explained dismissively, going back to his work when the machine beeped. "Doctor M. wouldn't let her be that close if it were dangerous. Say, do you recall the occupation of our lovely lady's victim, Mister Hertz?"

Woody shrugged, trying to calm himself down. "He was on the board of directors for Boston U.'s hospital. Why?"

"The newest poor soul to fall prey is one Vicky Stephenson," Nigel said softly, turning a screen to face him. A DMV photo of a middle aged brunette was staring back at them. "She was also on the Board at the hospital."

Woody was silent for a moment, his brain whirring. "Where are her next of kin?"

"I don't know. They didn't come in with the body. As far as I know, they may not even be aware she's passed. This thing kills pretty fast."

"Does Boston U. keep any kind of photo records on file of their board members? Like, something online?"

Nigel didn't answer, instead rolling his chair over to another computer and pulling up an internet browser. A few skilled keystrokes later, he beckoned Woody over and had him peer over his shoulder at website with a list of board members for local hospitals and how to contact them.

"Oh, my God," Woody whispered, pointing at the screen. "There's the first Jane Doe, the one I found in the park. Katie Andrews. I need to go tell Jordan."

"Let them finish the autopsies first."

The warning stopped him short, and Woody turned back around. Nigel was right; he didn't want to risk getting the bacteria on him, and then onto Jordan. He sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face. "Please tell me she's going to be okay, Nige."

"O'course she is, mate. After everything our Jordan has been through, I doubt a little outbreak is going to slow her down. She'll be back to her usual self before you know it." He stopped talking then, though, not sure what else to say when he was just as worried about the whole situation as the other man was. Instead he just let the conversation drop and turned back to the computer. "We can fill everyone in once they're finished. The hospital will have to be notified as well, as it's likely the contamination began there."

Woody nodded in agreement. "While we wait, would you mind tracking a number for me?" he asked suddenly, pulling out his wallet and digging around for the slip of paper he had found in Jordan's bedside table.

"Sure." Nigel took it from him and glanced at the string of numbers and the word scrawled above. He recognized the handwriting and raised his eyebrows. "Is this something you were asked to do or are you working as your own agent?"

"She asked me."

Without another word, he rolled back to the first bank of computers and opened a different program to enter the phone number. After a moment, the computer beeped at him. "This number isn't in use anymore. But if you give me a little bit of time, I can do some work on it."

xXx

"The link is seriously through the hospital?" Jordan asked later that night after they had eaten. Or at least, _he_ had eaten. She had mostly picked at the food listlessly. "How weird."

"I thought it was pretty common for there to be infections and stuff in hospitals," Woody mused as she leaned back against him on the couch. They had finished the autopsies about an hour before, and Garret had made her shower again as a precaution; her hair was still wet, and he was enjoying running his fingers through it and watching the water-dark strands fall down to her shoulder.

Jordan sighed when his fingers brushed against her scalp. "It is," she said in answer to his question. "Among _patients_. But _Y. pestis_ is extremely rare, and to see it pop up among board members who are almost never in the hospital, much less around people who are sick? Like I said – weird."

"Claudia and Nigel are all over it," he whispered, lowering his head to press his face against hers. "Would you like to go to bed? I bet you didn't rest well last night."

"Neither did you."

Woody chuckled. "Yeah, well. I'll sleep great tonight in here with you. I've got my pillow so I'll just need to find an extra blanket. Then I can sleep on the floor holding your hand."

"That's not gonna happen," Jordan said with a small shake of her head. "You really think I'm going to let you sleep on the floor? We can both fit on this couch." She left out the rest of the thoughts going through her mind – that the only thing keeping her grounded right now was him, and that she wanted to feel his arms around her for as long as she could. The world around her was spinning out of control as her conversation with Garret echoed in her mind. _If only kids were the least of my problems. Why do I feel like everything is about to end?_ "Hey, Woody…?"

"Yeah?" His fingers made three more leisurely passes through her hair.

"Nothing. I'm, uh, going to go change so we can get to sleep." She extracted herself from her grasp and started to stand before turning back to kiss him gently on the lips.

He cupped her cheek when she pulled back, keeping her gaze locked with his. "Take your time, Jo."


	8. Chapter 8

**I apologize for the delay! Work has been swamped and I completely lost track of time. Hopefully this chapter will have been worth the wait!**

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**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 8**

Jordan woke slowly the next morning, almost thinking she was back in her warm, comfortable bed in her warm, comfortable apartment - far from the events of the last few days. The only thing that didn't change as the haze of sleep lifted was Woody's arms around her. She was half against his chest, half in the space between his side and the back of the couch, their legs tangled together. His heart was beating softly under her ear, having lulled her to sleep through her raging thoughts the night before and still lending her comfort now. Her sleep had been filled with restless dreaming, but every time she came to she felt his arms and heard his heart and knew she was safe. For the moment, at least. Now the anxiety was filtering back.

She ran her hand gently over his chest, not wanting to wake him and knowing she wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep now. It was dark outside the round window of her office, probably about an hour before dawn if her internal clock was still running on time. Slowly, she tried to pull her legs from between Woody's with the intention of getting up and finding something to do. It wasn't that she wanted to leave him; she just couldn't stand being stationary now that she was awake. Being alone with her thoughts was the kiss of death for her mental state.

Once she had stood and stretched, she tip-toed to the door and reached out to open it. But then she paused and turned back around. Woody was still sound asleep on her couch, not having noticed her absence yet. She crept back and knelt beside him, chewing on her lower lip as she watched his face for a silent moment. _Maybe holding on to this life for him isn't such a bad thing, _she thought. _I may not care whether or not I die, but I don't want to leave him. _

"That's all I need," she whispered out loud, her fingers barely tracing a line down his jaw.

After another moment, she got back to her feet and quietly left the office. The halls were practically deserted. Garret and Kate weren't in their offices - they had probably gone home sometime during the night - and Nigel, Bug, and Claudia weren't in the conference room, where they had decided to hunker down together. Autopsy was surprisingly neat, what with the cases being rerouted to nearby hospitals for the moment, so there was nothing there for her to do. Thankfully there was fresh coffee in the break room and, pouring herself a cup, she finally found all three of them in one of the research rooms.

No one noticed her entrance, all entranced by their own work. Nigel and Claudia were both bent over a terribly expensive electron microscope studying something while Bug worked on a culture in a Petri dish nearby.

"Look at this one here," Claudia said. "It's just a little different. I haven't seen one exactly like it before. How long until we get the sequence back?"

Nigel was quiet for a moment, probably staring at what she had pointed out as he switched slides, before answering. "Any moment, love. You're right about this culture; it's certainly different, if only just a bit. Is that normal?"

"What sequence?" Jordan asked from the doorway, hurt that none of them had let her in the loop before. They'd obviously been working all night while she slept, and she had no idea what was going on.

"Ah, good morning, sunshine!" Nigel slid his rolling stool across the floor to stop right in front of her and gave her a bright smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. What are you doing?"

"Comparing samples of the bacteria taken from all of the deceased to one another, and then to the samples Claudia has on file with the CDC," he explained, gesturing for her to follow as he rolled back to the microscope. "Here, have a look. These three, here, are all the same, aren't they? Yet, visually, they don't look the same as any of the images from this lovely notebook from Atlanta."

"You're running a...what, a DNA sequence of these strains?" Jordan asked, peering down into the eyepiece and switching between the three slides.

"Exactly right."

"How are you getting that back so fast? We don't have those capabilities here."

"I'm running it through Atlanta's headquarters," Claudia piped in.

"Oh."

"Hey, um, Nigel, Dr. Vijay, why don't you guys go crash for a while?" the other woman suggested softly. "I already got my little cat nap in and you've done such great work tonight. I'll let you know if I need anything, okay?"

Nigel and Bug looked at each other for a moment and then glanced at Jordan's dark, pinched face. She was flipping through the notebook now, though not really paying any attention to it and obviously angry. An explosion was brewing. "Yeah, okay," Bug said, carefully setting down his cultures. "I'd like to call Lily, anyway. She's probably awake by now."

Once the two men had quickly clambered from the room, Claudia gave Jordan a small smile. "I'd be happy for a woman's presence for a little while, to be honest."

"Yeah," Jordan agreed softly, still staring blindly at a blown up still of a textbook microscope image of the bacteria they were studying. "Sometimes the testosterone in this place can be overwhelming. So...when did you send a sample down South to be analyzed?"

"As soon as I got here, actually," the other woman admitted, switching slides again. "Samples from the two victims at the time. You have incredible equipment here, it's just that Headquarters has an archive of every modern-day strain of _Y. pestis_. If we can find out what strain it is, we can track it easier, contain it. The hospital where it originated is on lockdown now, too, but we still need an exact answer."

"Of course." Jordan sat heavily on Nigel's vacated stool and stared listlessly through the microscope again at the smooth shape of the bacteria on the present slide.

Claudia straightened and brushed her hair from her face, looking at her companion for the first time. For the first time since she had arrived in the morgue, really. "I hadn't known about your previous illness until I got here, Doctor - er, Jordan. Still, the chance that you'll catch this thing is so slim it's ridiculous. I know you know that, but sometimes it helps to hear the words from someone uninvolved."

Jordan just puffed the air from her lungs, turning to lean back against the edge of the table and attempting to rein her temper back in. "Yeah. What did they tell you about my...previous illness?"

"Not much," the blond said carefully. "Just enough to know that your immune system wouldn't be able to fight off the bacteria. That was all I needed to know; the rest isn't my business."

The unfounded anger she'd been holding onto against Nigel and Bug began to vanish. "Thanks." Something else occurred to her then, and she smirked and added, "By the way, Woody and I aren't -"

"Aren't married, I know, I know. He corrected me yesterday. Goodness. I can't believe I fell for that when Nigel told me. I am so sorry. I really hope I didn't make things awkward," Claudia said

"So it _was _Nige, huh?" Jordan waved away her apology when the woman blushed. "I figured. He was doing it to tease me, not you. Though I really don't understand why he thought now was a good time."

"Trying to lighten the mood?" she suggested. "He seems like a good guy. Speaking of, where is your detective? You two have been practically joined at the hip since I got here."

The M.E. smiled thinly. Any other time she would have snapped and become defensive, but to an outsider she supposed that was definitely how it appeared. When Woody was frightened - especially for her - he got a little clingy. It used to annoy her, but somewhere along the line the annoyance had faded away and turned to something else. One of the many things she loved him for. "He's still asleep." She stared down at the empty ring finger on her left hand, suddenly feeling like something was missing. "Are you married?"

Claudia was silent long enough for Jordan to look up again. "I wish I was," she finally said. "It's not legal for me to marry the person I love back home. We've been together for seven years now, though. Live together, have a home together, act like we're married. But, according to the law, we can't be. So I guess it depends on how technical you want your answer to be." She chuckled. "That is such a scientist's answer."

"What's her name?"

"Joy." She paused again, staring off in thought toward the far wall. "We're happy down in the South, though. I love my job, and she loves hers. We live in a nice neighborhood in a good part of Atlanta, and our community accepts us. Other than the marriage thing, our life is pretty damn good."

"What, um..." Jordan took a deep breath, knowing she was crossing a line but unable to stop herself. "What about kids?"

Claudia met her gaze and something unspoken passed between them. Even with what little she had been given of her medical history, they were both doctors; she could put the pieces together. She scooted her chair a little closer to Jordan's, sensing her need for comfort, even from a stranger. Or perhaps especially from a stranger. "We don't have any. We could, if we wanted to, what with all of these wonderful medical advances, but we've never felt the need. We thought we did, at first," she explained quietly, setting down her pen then picking it back up again. "It's what every woman is supposed to want, right? Growing up, we both did. But...we love each other, and we decided that we were happy enough without children as long as we were with each other. Our love was enough to carry us. Man, I've never talked about that with anyone but Joy."

"Thank you," Jordan whispered. "I mean, I never really wanted kids when I was growing up. I didn't hear my biological clock until a few years ago, and now I guess it's too late."

Claudia reached out and touched her arm, bringing her eyes back up. "Medicine is advancing every day, and there is always adoption. If, of course, you change your mind down the road. I may not know your exact situation, but it's never too late."

The other woman wiped at her eyes and looked away. "God, I'm sorry. I don't even know you, yet here I am prying you apart. Probably living up to every bit of rumor and reputation you've heard." Jordan cleared her throat then, ready to change the subject. "So, um, Garret and Kate left?"

"Oh, yeah. They left a few hours ago. Garret said something about seeing his daughter? And Kate just wanted to get away from Nigel, I think."

Jordan laughed at that. "I bet being locked up with him really put Kate over the edge. They've been getting along surprisingly well lately, but there's only so much a person can take."

"It was certainly getting amusing watching them argue, though."

A comfortable silence fell and Claudia turned back to her microscope, jotting down a few more notes. Jordan watched her absently, not really paying attention but still pleased to have the company and know the same was reciprocated. She needed to talk with Woody. She almost wished she had done so last night, but hearing what Claudia had to say about her own life experiences had helped to calm her nerves a bit. For the moment, anyway. This had been eating at her for months now. Her heart wanted to believe what they had was strong enough to endure her illness and everything it was going to put them through now - things such as what they were having to deal with right this second, with the quarantine and the contamination, as well as long-term effects - but there was still a nagging in the back of her mind, warning her to let go now before he got hurt. Before _she_ died, too, just like everyone else he had cared for had.

A small, electronic pinging sound brought her from her thoughts. Claudia glanced up as well, sliding over to another counter where her laptop was sitting open. "The sequence is ready. Mike must have been working on it for forty-eight hours straight." She pulled open the email attachment as Jordan came to peer over her shoulder. "The guy deserves a drink. Or at least the rest of the morning...oh. Oh, my God."

"What?" The M.E. stared at the sequence, but she didn't have the specific training the scientist did. It just looked like a standard bacteria to her. "What is it?"

"I've...I've never seen this strain before. But...no, this can't be. Hold on." She grabbed the notebook of information she had brought with her, flipping it open to a specific page and studying it for a heartbeat. "See? Look here." She pointed between the notebook and the screen; Jordan followed her finger, starting to notice what had already begun to click. "This strain, here in Boston, started as this one. But..._this _strain has been dead for decades. It's only available in labs now. This difference, here? It's...oh, my God. It's man-made. Someone genetically altered the bacteria that killed these people."

Jordan jumped away from her, eyes wide as a thought ran through her brain like electricity. _Man-made._

Not speaking, she dashed from the lab and down the hall toward the crypt. All cares forgotten, she threw open the drawer containing Ivan Hertz and, snapping on only a pair of gloves, she began to look over his right arm.

"Jesus, Jordan! You know how dangerous this is!" Claudia came running in behind her and, without waiting for permission, reached out to put a mask over her nose and mouth. "What are you looking for?"

"Needle marks," she explained briefly, voice muffled through the mask.

"You think -"

"Here! Right here!" On the side of his arm, where one would expect to be given a vaccine, was a small puncture. She left Hertz and moved to Katie Andrews. There was a needle mark in the same place. Vicky Stephenson had one as well. All of them were fresh, unhealed. Inflicted less than forty-eight hours before death. Jordan stood back, feeling dazed. "These people didn't just die of the Plague. They were murdered."

"Are...are you sure?"

"Biopsy the skin under all of those injection sites. I'm positive. Someone infected them." Jordan turned her stunned eyes to Claudia's. "Coincidences like these don't exist."

"So this new strain of _Y. pestis_..."

"Was created and used by someone with the intent to harm. Whether or not that person is one and the same, though?" She shrugged, trying to fight off the cold chill that was creeping over her skin.

"You just touched an infected body. Shower and get yourself clean before you get sick. I guess I should call your chief back in here?"

"And I need to wake up Woody. He has to open an official homicide investigation."

Claudia nodded. "I'll do that. Now go! Coming in here was really pig-headed!"

Jordan flashed her a thin smile over her shoulder, almost feeling a spark of her old self at the hint of mystery opening before her. "Thanks for not trying to stop me."

"What, and stand in front of a moving train? I quite like my arms right where they are, thank you. Get out of here!"


	9. Chapter 9

**As always, thank you to all of my readers and everyone who has reviewed! I've nearly finished writing this one - not including editing - and it's looking to be about sixteen chapters. So we're halfway done!**

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 9**

"There are no open research projects going on right now through the hospital where these guys worked dealing with the Plague," Woody said later that day in the conference room. Everyone was crowded in there, eager to find out what he had learned. Unfortunately it wasn't much. "None are in the hearing stage either. Also, there are five board members – three of whom are already in your crypt. The other two are on lockdown at the hospital now, but one of them is already sick, a Miles Nelson. He's not looking good. The second, Brittany Hutchings, has been on vacation for the last month; they're holding her just in case."

"What about vaccinations?" Jordan asked, leaning forward and trying to see his notebook. "Flu, maybe?"

Woody gave her a small grin, one she didn't see, as she was too caught up in trying to see what he had already written down. "About five days ago, a pharmacist from Walgreens came by with a group of techs to give everyone on staff the flu vaccine – including four of the board members, except Hutchings since she wasn't here."

"That fits," Claudia murmured from where she was leaning against the doorway. "The incubation period is two to six days. It would explain why they didn't all die at the same time, or all show symptoms at once."

"But one of the techs? Or the pharmacist?" Jordan pursed her lips. "Why? And why only the board members and not the rest of the hospital staff? What was the point?"

The blond woman chuckled quietly. "Are you always this inquisitive on your cases?"

"This is rather tame, as far as Jordan's line of questioning goes," Nigel piped up from across the table. Jordan kicked at him, but he just gave her a playful scowl. "She plays the detective more often than not." Before she could protest, he added, "That's what makes her so good at her job. Now that this little devil is on his tail, our Black Plague killer doesn't stand a chance."

She immediately lowered her eyes. "We'll see."

Woody narrowed his eyebrows at that, but he pulled out another piece of paper from his small stack and didn't comment on her words. "The pharmacy gave me a list of all the techs there that day; they're being rounded up and brought over to the precinct now. I guess other than some kind of magic confession there won't be any trace evidence to connect anyone to these deadly injections?"

Nigel shook his head. "Sorry, mate. Unless the person is dim, the syringes are long gone."

"Could I get one of you to come with me? Help me tell if someone is sick or showing any symptoms?"

"I'll do it," Bug volunteered, speaking up for the first time.

"Great. I'll find you when I get the call."

Jordan frowned, feeling yet again the weight of the quarantine. She knew Woody wanted her to be the one to join him, since now that their cases had crossed they could work together again without consequence. But she still couldn't leave; probably not for a while yet, with these startling developments. Garret touched her shoulder from behind, and she forced her breath out slowly.

"Okay!" Nigel clapped his hands together once and stood from the table. "Who wants to go get some lunch?" The room cleared out pretty quickly then, Bug, Claudia, and Kate following him out as they decided where they wanted to go.

Woody gathered up his papers and slid them into the police file, watching Jordan in his peripheral vision. She hadn't moved yet, and Garret had taken the vacated chair beside hers. The detective was still incredibly worried about her, especially because she hadn't opened up to him since she had been locked up in here two days ago. There was an odd glint in her eyes that he only saw when she was undergoing emotional turmoil and didn't know what to do to stop herself from falling. He also knew, though, that if he pushed her, even if they both knew it was only to help, she would shut down.

"Are you hungry, Jordan?" Garret asked, interrupting Woody's thoughts. "I can ask them to bring something back for you."

She shook her head and gave them both a half-hearted smile. "Not really. I've, um, got a headache."

The chief nodded, taking her wrist and giving it a quick squeeze before getting to his feet. "All right. I'll be in my office if you need anything. Paperwork calls."

The room was empty then, save Woody and Jordan. He glanced over at her and was somewhat surprised to see her watching him. "Is one of those mine?" she asked, indicating another file identical to the one he had just closed.

"Oh, yeah." He slid it toward her, the police crest upward, then quietly asked, "How are you doing?"

"Fine." She bit her lip, now studying the folder on the shining tabletop and expertly avoiding his gaze.

"Jo…" Woody got out of his chair and knelt on the floor beside her, taking her hands and encasing them in both of his. She met his eyes again, startled. "I'm worried about you, Jordan. I'm not going to force you to talk to me or anything, but I just…I love you. Okay?"

Garret's words from the day before – _he's scared of losing you and scared that you're pulling away for reasons he can't understand because you're not talking to him _– came to the forefront of her mind and stayed there. She extracted one of her hands and pressed it to Woody's cheek, running her thumb over his lips. "Woody, I -"

But his cell phone chose that second to ring. He pulled it out and saw with dismay that it was Santana.

"Answer it," Jordan urged before he could let the call go to voicemail. "It's important."

"So is this," he argued gently, looking up at her with wide eyes as she dropped her hand from his face. He wanted to make a desperate grab for her fingers even as she put her wall back up.

"People's lives are at stake. Answer it."

He almost retorted that _her_ life was at stake, too, but the moment had passed. He flipped the phone open. "Hoyt." After a few seconds, he nodded and hung up again. "Guess Bug is going to have to cut his lunch short. All of the techs from the pharmacy have been brought in and are ready for questioning. Will you…will you be okay here?"

"Of course. Go find this bastard."

Woody nodded and started to stand, then paused and leaned down to give her a fiercely passionate kiss. It caught her off guard at first, but a heartbeat later she responded and wrapped her arms up around his neck. The position was uncomfortable, with her still sitting, and he started to pull away after a minute but then he went back for one more, unable to resist. She held his head in place that time, her fingers curling in his hair and wordlessly urging him to briefly deepen the kiss.

Another minute passed, and he finally pulled himself away again and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'll be back soon."

"I'll be here." She smiled wryly, but there was more warmth to it than there had been in a while. "I love you, too."

He stood up and started to smooth out a few wrinkles in his shirt before catching sight of Nigel and Bug in the hallway, staring in through the windows open-mouthed. The door was open, too. Talk about a lack of privacy. Woody's face flamed. "We, uh, have an audience."

"Rats looking for a show," she muttered, getting to her feet as well and rolling her eyes toward the people in the hall. "I'll see you later."

"I wish it was you coming with me." He raised her chin for one last – much more chaste – kiss, and left the conference room with his file tucked under his arm. "What are you guys doing?" he asked as soon as he was out in the hallway.

Nigel and Bug exchanged a quick glance. "We were going to offer to bring you both some food," the criminologist supplied, at least having the decency to look bashful despite his next words. "You two sure are cozy, aren't you?"

Woody ignored him, trying to fight the fire out of his face. "Bug, I just got the call that everyone has been rounded up at the precinct. Do you need to get anything or can we go ahead and leave?"

"I'll meet you there," the M.E. answered, nodding to Nigel and turning to the elevators.

Woody started to follow him, but the other man reached out and grabbed his arm. "Just a sec, mate. That number you asked me to run down? I was able to track it and find one that was active." He handed him a folded slip of paper. "I haven't called it, but it's live."

"Thanks, Nigel."

xXx

Down in his car, Woody unfolded the paper and stared at it for a long few seconds. It had an area code he didn't recognize. Bug had taken one of the morgue-issued SUVs on to the precinct to meet Santana, who had already started the interviews. He had a few minutes before he had to join them.

Max would recognize his number so it was doubtful he would answer, but just the fact that Jordan was asking for her father was making him anxious. What was he supposed to say?

Deciding to get the call over with, Woody flipped his phone open and dialed the number. The other line picked up, then rang a handful of times before it went to an automated voicemail.

"Max, it's Woody Hoyt." He paused, suddenly unsure of what to say and wondering if her father would even keep listening to the message at that point. Unlikely. "Look. I'm sure you don't want to talk to me. But, well... Your daughter needs you right now. So whether you come home or just give her a call, at least give her the chance to talk with you again before..." He stopped himself. That was for her to explain, not him. Instead, he went with her idea of a threat, even if he wasn't very good at it. "Jordan asked me to find you for her, and you know I will go to the ends of the earth for that woman. So just make everyone's lives easier, okay? I, uh, hope you're doing well." He hung up with that, feeling dumb. Some message.

xXx

"_It was just a flu vaccine!"_

That was what the two detectives heard over and over all afternoon. Woody leaned over his desk and dropped his head into his heads, frustrated. "What now?"

"Bank statements?" Santana suggested from the chair across from his.

"We'd need a subpoena for those," he said miserably. "What would we be looking for?"

The young woman shrugged thoughtfully, glancing back over one of the transcripts. "Maybe someone paid one of them off? I dunno. But look at this." She handed him the paper. "This guy's story seems awfully rigid. Everyone else's was pretty flexible, time-wise, to handle the huge amount of people they had have to seen. Want me to go over his background?"

"I guess it's a place to start. Are there any others?"

xXx

Jordan stayed in the conference room for a while longer, staring listlessly out the window at the bustling street below. She had no idea what to do with herself now. Nigel didn't need her help, and neither did Claudia. Garret and Kate were doing paperwork. She had no cases to catch up on. Not to mention there was a throbbing headache inching its way in and she was feeling remarkably lightheaded. She wanted to go home; it had been a long time since her Pearle Street apartment had had such a siren call, and today she would have given just about anything to leave these horrible confines and sink into her bed.

She understood why she had to stay here, but that didn't make this any easier. There was no telling how long she would be stuck now, not since it had become apparent that the bacteria was man-made. She'd probably go stir-crazy before she was released. It was almost worse than being in jail.

_Well, no, that's not true, _she told herself, trying once again to keep calm. _At least this time I can be with my friends. And it's for an actual reason_.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she turned away from the window and left the room with the intention of returning to her office and possibly taking a nap. As she was walking down the hall, though, a wave of dizziness hit and she wavered haltingly, throwing her hand out to the wall to steady herself. But then her left leg buckled. All she had to reach for was a nearby potted tree, but it was not nearly strong enough to support her weight. Instead it went tumbling to the ground with her, and she lay in a heap on the floor surrounded by broken ceramic, leaves, and potting soil.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading, and especially to those who left me such lovely review!**

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 10**

Garret was the first to reach her.

He saw her fall through the windows of his office, and he stood from his desk so quickly his chair tipped over. "Jordan," he called, kneeling beside her and rolling her to her side. "Can you answer me? Jordan!"

Nigel and Claudia came running up behind him in a panic and crowded around the two people on the floor. "What happened?" Nigel asked. "Is she okay? Is she sick?"

"Get the hell away from me," Jordan spat angrily, smacking at all of the nervous hands reaching down to her and surprising everyone. Things were still spinning nauseatingly, and the people gathered around were making it worse. "Get away and _stop touching me_, for God's sake."

"Jordan -"

"No, Garret!" she growled furiously. She flopped onto her back and squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to look at the group pressed close to her. She was dizzy. That was all. She had a feeling she knew why, too, and it was only a short time before her boss figured it out as well. He knew her too well, and he knew her habits under stress. "I'm fine, okay? I just...just got a little vertigo. That's _all_. That's all."

Still, Garret pressed the palm of his hand to her forehead, then to each cheek to check for fever. She sneered at him the whole time, even with her closed eyes. "Drop your hand before I break your fingers."

It wasn't a light threat, and he finally withdrew somewhat, still crouched beside her so that potting soil smeared into the knees of his pants. "You're not sick. When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know," she answered dismissively, eyes still closed. _There it was_. "I don't care, either. Stop asking."

"Nigel," Garret began, turning slightly so he could see the other two people. They looked at him expectantly, ready for him to take charge and make this whole mess disappear. "Go make her a peanut butter sandwich -"

"Hey!"

"And on your way back," he continued boldly over her loud protest, "get a syringe so we can draw a blood sample, just to be sure. Claudia, why don't you join him?"

"I can call Woody, too," Nigel offered timidly.

Jordan's eyes snapped open at that and she shot him a nasty glare from the floor. "Pick up the phone and I'll kill you with my mind, if I have to. Don't you _dare _tell him. _None _of you. He can't know about this. He…just can't. And if I find out someone so much as breathed a word, so help me…"

The criminologist held his hands up in front of himself in defense, already backing away from her wrath. "Fine, fine. Come on, Claudia."

Suddenly Jordan and Garret were quite alone in the hall, both of them still getting covered in dirt and pieces of pottery. There was a thin branch poking her spine, but she was content to ignore it right then, still too dizzy move yet. "Don't start," she warned lowly.

"You're going to kill yourself!" the chief hissed, the worry in his voice obvious as he slid an arm under her shoulders to give her enough support to sit up and lean back against the wall. "Seriously. When was the last time you ate something substantial?"

She shrugged noncommittally and let her eyes fall closed again. "I dunno. Three days ago, maybe? Before all this shit happened."

"You can't do that anymore, Jordan! Not since -"

"Not since the tumor?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Right. I know. I just haven't been hungry. Okay?"

"No, _not_ okay. You think that's an appropriate excuse? You just passed out in the hallway because of vertigo caused by lack of food!"

"I did not 'pass out'!" she argued vehemently. "I…I tripped over my feet. Because I was dizzy. _Fine_, because I haven't eaten well." She paused and let out a long, soft sigh as she took down a single and very small wall. "Or at all. I'll eat the goddamn sandwich. Happy?"

"Happi_er_."

She opened one eye to a narrow slit and glanced over at him. "What, you're not going to scoop me up and hustle me into my office for quiet time? Really, man, it's practically twenty feet away." The fact that she wouldn't have protested the help went unsaid but was still loudly heard.

Garret laughed softly and sat next to her against the wall. "Please. I can't scoop you up."

"Then how did I get to my couch after, um…after my seizure that time?"

"Woody carried you."

"Oh."

"Jordan." Her friend reached out and touched her shoulder, then fell silent until she gave him her full attention. "You should tell him about this. Why won't you?"

"I don't want to scare him, Garret," she whispered, shaking her head as she thought about the detective. "He's lost everyone, and this…this will definitely scare him. Remember what we talked about yesterday." She could hear his rebuttal coming and stopped it before it could start with a compromise. "If I start feeling worse I'll tell him myself, and in the meantime I'll force food down my throat. In return, keep your mouth shut. Deal?"

"Deal. Now come on, I'll help you up."

xXx

"Patrick Gilbert has been off the map so far," Santana reported back later that evening, dropping down into the chair across from Woody's desk. "Twenty seven, works part-time as a pharmacy tech at a Walgreens across town, lives with his mom outside city limits, drives a really crappy car. He's never been arrested for anything, but he dropped out of grad school his second year for unknown reasons."

"What was he going to school for?" Woody asked, reaching forward to take his copy of the records.

"He was going to medical school at Boston University."

Their eyes met. That couldn't be a coincidence. "Any connection to our victims?"

"None at all." Santana shook her head. "He left the program long before he would have entered any kind of internships or higher-level classes that would have put him in contact with them. All we have is his very short enrollment. Also," she pulled out another list, "three of the other techs also attended Boston U. at some point, and another four are either currently enrolled or are already graduated. None of them are connected in any way."

Woody sighed in defeat. "I guess it's not much of a lead, then, huh? It's just a school."

"Don't give up hope yet!" The young detective grinned and opened her file again. "I used to date a guy who works in the D.A.'s office now, and I was able to use Gilbert's previous student status as enough evidence to gain access to his bank records. Through legal means, of course. Take a look at this."

He sat up in his chair again and stared down at the paper she had slid across his desk. "A deposit for ten grand?"

"Two days before Gilbert was scheduled to give the vaccines."

"This is payment," Woody whispered, his mind whirring as theories tried to form. "So someone probably gave him names and the bacteria, as well."

"Ten grand is kind of cheap to off someone, don't you think?" Santana chuckled. "This kid had no idea what he was doing, I'd bet."

"Has Bug already left?"

"Yeah, a while ago. Why?"

"I wonder how you would need to store something like this?" Woody jotted down some notes. "Refrigeration? Would it have been in the same kind of…kind of…vial as the regular vaccine? Whoever planned this knew exactly what they were doing." He paused and slowly let out his breath. "And they were smart."

Santana watched him, noticing as he began to fret. "I can have Gilbert come back in for questioning in the morning. Maybe if we keep things looking routine he won't freak out on us, and we'll be able to squeeze more out of him."

Woody nodded, still writing.

"How's Jordan?"

The question surprised him a bit, and he glanced up to meet the woman's knowing gaze. He cracked under it easily. "I swear to God, Luisa, if something happens to her because of this…" He dropped his head to his hands, feeling the sting of tears that he had been fighting back since he had left her alone that afternoon. "I don't know what I'll…how I could…I'll kill the bastard."

"You're blaming yourself," Santana suddenly realized. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and reached one hand across the desk to touch his arm. "Why?"

Woody shook his head, feeling embarrassment and fright and the overwhelming desire to talk to someone outside the morgue warring inside him. "I, uh, I may have passed the bacteria to her before we understood what was going on. The night before she discovered it," he explained briefly. The blush covering his face gave her the answer she needed.

"Because you found the first body," she filled in.

"Her…her immune system or whatever – God, I don't know, I'm not a doctor! – is more at risk than ours because of…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head again, unable to keep looking at her. "I can't lose her to this. Not to this. Not after -" And then he was done, and all he could do was continue shaking his head as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Santana stood and closed the door to his office, then hovered over him, rubbing his back and offering what words of comfort she could.

xXx

"So, what did you find out?"

Jordan was waiting for Woody when he got off the elevator, anxious for any kind of news. He raised his eyebrows at her, shoving a pizza box in her direction so he could get a better grip on his files. "Have you been standing here since we got off the phone?"

A brief pause. "Maybe." She lifted the lid to check the pizza with trepidation – her stomach was still trying to digest the peanut butter Garret watched her eat earlier – but he got her favorite. She'd keep up her end of the bargain as best she could. "Come on, man, what did you learn?"

Woody put a hand on the small of her back to guide her to her office, then closed the door and took off his suit jacket. Jordan had already set down the pizza and opened his files. "Not too much. Obviously," he added under his breath, though he couldn't help the smile that played over his lips.

"This Patrick Gilbert – he's your only lead right now?"

"Yeah. Santana and I went over everything with a fine-toothed comb, and he was the only person who looked even remotely out of place. We're having him come back tomorrow morning." He opened the pizza box and helped himself to a slice, watching her quietly and trying to forget about the breakdown he'd had just two hours before. They were together again and she was okay; that was all he needed. "How have things been here?"

Jordan glared at him, her lip curling up in distaste before she fell back against the cushions of the couch to be a little closer to him. "Shitty. I'm starting to hate it here."

He got another piece and handed it to her. She took it wordlessly and picked at a mushroom. "Hopefully we'll be home again soon."

She popped the cooked fungus into her mouth, chewing slowly to buy herself a bit of time. A wave of guilt hit her as she began to hide what had happened with the vertigo. She knew how upset he would be if he found out, but if he found out later and knew she had hid it from him? More than that, though… "There was an, um, an incident this afternoon."

"An incident?" Woody looked up, confused.

"Yeah." The innocent, trusting expression on his face jabbed at her heart. _How could I ever think it was right to hide this from him?_

"What, did you kill someone for the excitement?"

"No, but, uh, that would definitely have been more exciting." She sighed heavily and set her piece of pizza back in the box. "I wasn't going to tell you this, Woody, but I can't…can't lie to you, no matter how small a lie it may be. Our relationship deserves better than that."

"Jordan?"

"It's not a big deal, okay? Everyone was acting like it was, but it _wasn't_. It's mostly my own fault, anyway. And despite what Garret says, I was not unconscious for a second, even though he kept going on and on about how I passed out or some crap when I really didn't -"

"Jordan."

"What?" She blinked, realizing for the first time that he had no idea what she was talking about. Hearing the words 'unconscious' and 'passed out', though, had made him extremely nervous, and he had dropped his food and leaned forward, eyes wide. "Oh. Right. I just got dizzy and fell over. That's it."

"That's it?"

"Yes." She scowled and picked up her pizza again, then dropped it. "Garret and Nigel just made a huge deal out of it."

"Because…?"

Her scowl was turned to him, but it didn't last. She pursed her lips for a moment. "My appetite has been pretty low. I guess I haven't eaten enough. So it's my own fault, and why Garret was all over me for it. Nothing to do with this…this _shit_." She gestured to the file still open on the coffee table in front of them.

Woody was silent for a long moment, staring down at his hands and absorbing everything she had just told him. Then he opened his arms and urged her into them until she was curled up against his chest, just as silent as he was. "I'm not going to force you to eat, Jo, but please don't be afraid to talk to me. About your lack of appetite or anything else."

"I'm scared, Woody."

He kissed the top of her head before she turned her face to hide against his neck. "So am I."

"No, I mean…"

Sensing her hesitation, he hooked a finger under her chin and brought her eyes back to his. She swallowed, and he gave her a small, comforting smile. "It's okay, Jordan. What do you want to say?"

"I…talked with Kayla the other day."

That was unexpected and obviously not what she was initially going to say, and he dropped his hand in surprise. Without him directing her gaze, she settled herself back against his chest, not sure if she would be able to keep herself calm if she continued looking at him. Noticing he lost his chance to catch her eyes again, he twirled a strand of her hair around his finger as she clenched the fabric of his shirt tightly in her fingers. "How is she?"

"Fine. She's, um, getting ready to go to college." Her hand tightened on the fabric and she forced herself to let it go. "I know I've mentioned this to you before, but I want to make sure you really understand. Kids, right? I can't -"

"Jordan, hush."

Her eyebrows knitted in consternation, but she fell quiet and leaned back again to see his face, waiting to see what he was going to say.

"I don't care. Well no," he paused and cupped her face in his hands, "I _do_ care – because it's obviously causing you pain – but it has no impact on our relationship. All I care about is you. Your health and wellbeing. And, most of all, _being with_ _you_. Because I love you, so, so much. I've loved you since the very first week we met, I think. Kids or not – you are all I want." His kissed her gently. "Being with you for the rest of our lives."

But his words didn't exactly have the impact he had wanted them to have. As soon as the last four were out of his mouth, her face crumpled and her breath hitched once with the tears she was holding back. She turned her face from his hands and stood up out of his arms. "That's so sweet."

"But?" He followed her quickly, his heart pounding. "Jordan?" She didn't respond and, when she kept her back to him, he reached out and gently took her hand. "Jo? What is it?"

"I'm going to die, you know." She turned around suddenly, her eyes brimming. "I waited too long, and now…my body is betraying me. How long before it gives up?"

"Waited too long for what, Jo?"

"For…for us," she whispered weakly, not even sure what she was saying now. "For this. You know. We've talked about it. Kind of. But I can't help but wonder how much time we've lost, especially now that I…I…"

"Jordan, stop. Please." Woody took a few steps closer, relieved when she didn't keep putting space between them. "It's okay."

"No, just…wait. I need you to understand." She paused, trying to find the words as he pulled her back into an embrace. This was the kind of thing she had only half-heartedly spoken about with her various therapists over the years, and usually under duress. But then…no. _I'm not afraid of dying; I'm afraid of leaving you alone_. That's what she wanted to say. Did he need to know that? In the long run, it was still practically the same. 'She didn't want to die' being translated from 'she was afraid of leaving him alone'. Maybe…he didn't need to know that right then.

"I just love you, Farm Boy. A lot. And having control over my health taken out of my hands like this? It bothers me, to put things mildly."

"I know. I know, Jordan." Her name had turned into a prayer, falling off his lips, and he held her tighter against him, delighting in the feeling of her pressing her face against his neck, her arms around his waist. He dipped his own face to rest against her shoulder, kissing the exposed skin he found there. "We just need to take advantage of the time we have now, regardless of what may come. No more of this regretting the past. We're together _now_; that's all that matters."

She nodded slowly. "Okay."

"You never took your trip to Africa," Woody said softly. "Maybe after this is over, getting away would do you some good."

"Honeymoon?" They both tensed briefly as soon as she suggested it, surprising them both, and she continued quickly with, "For the wedding Nigel convinced Claudia we already had, I mean. Might as well take advantage of it, right?"

He smiled, kissing her shoulder again and planting another to the side of her neck. They hadn't slept together since the night before all of this began to unravel and, though they likely still wouldn't until they were able to return home, he couldn't help but continue kissing her soft skin as she tilted her chin to the side to give him more access. Her question hummed through his mind again. "Mmm, I like that proposal. Spending a few uninterrupted weeks with you in another country? Yes, please. Seeing Africa might be nice, too."

Jordan laughed, the first genuine laugh he had heard from her in a while. It was music to his ears. A weight had been lifted from both their minds.

"Should we lock the door and close the blinds?" she murmured when his kisses began to progress along her jaw.

"Probably a good idea. At least for a little while."


	11. Chapter 11

**The next chapter is ready to go. Enjoy!** **Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing the story so far!**

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**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 11**

It was after two o'clock in the morning when Max Cavanaugh stepped off the elevator and pushed cautiously into the morgue. He did not know about the contagion outbreak, and he was not expecting to see many familiar faces – especially not his daughter's. Luck was on his side, though; since everyone had been cleared, most of the day staff had been replaced with a brave skeleton crew so they could finally return home. This new batch of people gave him a curious glance, but he still had his old 'Visitor' badge, and they let him by without incident.

He had the idea of going to Jordan's supposedly empty office and leaving her a note before skipping town again, maybe leaving her a good phone number this time, but a shocked, "Max!" caught him off guard.

Garret came out of his office, quickly shutting his dropped jaw. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Woody Hoyt called me. I, uh…came to leave something for my daughter."

"I see," the M.E. muttered, seeing through the ruse and opening his door to usher the other man inside. "She and Woody are asleep in there right now, but you can go wake them. If you want."

"She's here?" Max asked, surprised. "She's here _asleep_? Did she forget to make the rent payments on her apartment or something?"

"No, Max. Woody didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" He looked around, his eyes settling on the windows of Jordan's office. The blinds were drawn completely over all but one, and he could see through the five inches at the bottom his daughter and the detective asleep in each other's arms on the couch. He chuckled dryly. "She's still leading him on, is she? Poor kid."

Garret just laughed at that, only able to repeat, "No. She is definitely not leading him on now. In fact, between the two of them, they're paying the rent on her apartment just fine."

"They're _living together_?" he choked out, remembering that he was her father and flashing back to his teenage daughter going on her first date with a boy he hated. At least he _liked_ Woody. He'd have to remind himself of that.

"Jordan's happy," Garret soothed, seeing the familiar parent-like panic flash across his face. "Maybe for the first time in…a while. She's calmed down. Well, if you can call it 'calmed down', anyway."

Max nodded mutely, still watching the two of them sleeping across the hall and almost wishing he had kept in touch better. But there was nothing to be done to change the past, and he could tell something much bigger was going on. "Why did Hoyt call and ask me to come back, Garret? Why is she here right now instead of home with him?"

The other man paused then, unsure. This was Jordan's life, and it was certainly not his business to be sharing. But he also knew that Max had absolutely no intention of talking to her himself; it was obvious from the way his jaw was set. If he didn't tell him, then her father may never know unless he got a phone call to come to the funeral, and that just wasn't right. "There was a bacterial outbreak earlier this week," Garret began slowly. "Jordan had to be quarantined at first, and she still can't leave just yet. Woody is staying with her. You know how he is."

"But everyone else could leave," Max cut in sharply, his detective instincts still strong. He gave Garret a withering glare. "_Why_?"

The doctor sighed and sat down heavily on his couch, gesturing for his companion to do the same. When Max just raised his eyebrows in growing agitation (a look he was very used to seeing on Jordan's face) Garret pursed his lips tightly, trying to think of the best way to approach the situation. "Her immune system was compromised last year, which means she was unable to take the antibiotics with everyone else," he hedged gently. "She just needs to wait out the storm, so to speak, before she's allowed to go to be sure it's safe – both for her and for everyone else. This is just a precaution; she's going to be fine."

It didn't work. "Compromised by _what_, Macy? I know you're hiding something, and I want you to be straight with me right now. Because you and I both know I won't be asking Jordan."

Garret was quiet for a beat before breathing, "A brain tumor."

Max tensed, his eyes widening and darting back to that window to stare at her again. He noticed this time the way Woody's arms were tight around her, protective even as they slept. "Why didn't anyone _tell_ me?" he asked quietly, starting to seethe with anger.

"She didn't want us to."

"I'm her father! I had a right to know! What if something had happened to her? What if she had died?!" He waved his arm widely toward her office, his fury starting to fade as quickly as it had erupted. Finally, after a long moment of pained silence, he lowered himself into a chair by the door, still able to see her. She had tried to call him once in the last year, but he hadn't responded. Was that why she had called? "I could have lost the only child I ever really had and I never…I never even knew."

"It was not malignant," Garret said softly. "She was only in danger because of where the tumor was located. It took some convincing – your daughter is just as stubborn as you are," he added with a gentle smile, "but she eventually had surgery that removed most of it. I tried to get her to contact you then. She wouldn't go for it, and I wasn't going to go against her wishes. But I promise you, Max, I would have tracked you down if something had gone wrong. If it had been Abby…" He trailed off, horror-struck just thinking about his own daughter in that position. "And you know how much I care about Jordan."

Her father just nodded silently, digesting this news and unable to take his gaze away from her now, slumbering as peacefully as she could be on the couch with Woody.

"She took something about an hour ago to help her sleep, but you could probably still wake her if you'd like," the other man offered.

"No," Max said quickly.

"In that case, she'd likely sleep through any minor disturbances. If you want to go in and see for yourself that she's alright, I mean."

The aged detective nodded again and got to his feet, a small, weary smile tugging back his lips. "Thank you, Garret. I could always trust you to look after my baby girl." Macy stood as well and they clasped hands firmly. "I guess I'll be seeing you around."

"Leave an address for the wedding invitation," Garret joked as Max went back out into the hallway and toward Jordan's office.

He stopped in front of her door, still shocked over what he had just learned. His hand shook as he turned the knob and silently let himself inside. She had rearranged the furniture, but otherwise her office was just as he remembered it – warm and Jordan-like, filled with her things. Photographs on the desk (turned away from the door now with the rearrangement, so he couldn't tell what was in the frames), diplomas on the walls, little trinkets on the shelves, medical journals, case files piled on the desk and end tables, whatever she and Woody had been working on spread on the coffee table in front of the couch, the snow globe she'd had forever. The little bits and pieces that made this space _hers_. And then…there she was, asleep on the sofa with Woody, both of them wrapped in a blanket.

Quietly as he could, he crept to the couch and knelt beside it so he could run a gentle hand over her hair. She had changed it again; it was lighter now, no curls, but she was still so lovely. Just like her mother. _A brain tumor._

"I love you, Jordan," he whispered, leaning forward just enough to plant a feather-light kiss to her forehead. She didn't stir.

"Max?"

But apparently Woody had, and he gazed up at him blearily. "Don't wake her," he warned quickly, standing again and backing away. He dug something out of his pocket. A piece of paper with a good phone number and an address, which he slid under a medical text on a high shelf of the bookcase. "Here. If anything happens, you can get in touch."

"But don't you want to -"

"No." Max came forward and touched Jordan's face one more time, staring down at her for a long moment. "I just needed to see her. That's all."

Woody watched him in sleep-addled confusion, not quite sure if he was dreaming or if this was actually happening. "Okay."

"Take care of her for me," he requested, kissing the side of her head again before making his way quietly toward the door to leave just as he had come. There was nothing left to say, and he didn't want to risk waking her.

"Of course," the younger man replied, realizing suddenly that this was definitely not a dream and naïvely thankful he and Jordan weren't naked under the blanket. But by the time he had come to his senses enough, Max was already gone. Woody saw him walk quickly down the hallway in front of Jordan's office for the elevators as he made his escape. _Take care of her for me._ That was a blessing, he understood. An acknowledgement of their relationship. She had been asleep the whole time, though. All she had asked of him was to find her father. He had, and then Max had refused to even talk with her.

He sighed in frustration, tightening his arms around her waist. _I'm sorry, Jo, _he thought sadly. _I tried._ He turned his head and caught sight of Garret through the section of blinds that hadn't been pulled all the way closed. They had probably talked, at least. So Max knew about her illness. Was that good?

"Thank you, Woody."

Jordan's quiet voice pulled him from his reverie. "You're awake," he observed, bringing his gaze to her face. Her own eyes were still closed and her lips were turned down, but she was definitely not asleep the way she had apparently been pretending to be. "Why didn't you say so?"

"He wanted me to be asleep," she continued softly, finally opening her honey eyes and shifting slightly so she could look up at him, a gentle grin tugging at her mouth now. "Dad wouldn't have come in if I'd been awake. He didn't want to talk; he just wanted to see me, like he said. That's all I wanted, too. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Jordan." If he could have pulled her closer, he would have. As it was, he brought one hand up to cradle the back of her head and moved one of his legs to wrap around hers as she started to doze off. They wouldn't speak of this night again, but she _had_ gotten what she wanted: one step closer to closure, and the understanding that the cease-fire with her father had been called. "You're welcome."

xXx

"Look, dude, I don't have a clue what you're goin' on about," Patrick Gilbert defended himself, shaking his head wildly. "I was assigned to those people, okay? It was…it was totally random, I swear."

"You were _assigned_ to them?" Woody asked slowly, his voice mocking. "Looks pretty bad for you that they all ended up dead. Especially with a hefty sum showing up in your bank account just two days before. Are you sure you still don't know what we're "goin' on about"?" He slid a photocopy of the kid's bank statement across the cold table.

The color drained from his face. "Hey, that's illegal! I-isn't it?"

"We had a subpoena for the records," Santana said coolly from across the room. "Your bank sent you a letter when you didn't answer your phone."

"A loan! Yeah, I'm buying a new car." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms defiantly. "It's a loan for a new car."

"A loan," Woody repeated dryly. "For only ten thousand dollars – for a new car, no less! – two days before you are magically assigned to give four people an injection that ends up killing them. Sounds pretty perfect." He pulled the piece of paper back and placed it in the folder again. "Did you realize what you actually injected them with, Patrick? A bacteria called _Yersinia pestis_. Do you know what that is?"

The twenty-seven-year-old shook his head silently.

"Right. Because you never finished medical school. It's the Black Plague!" Woody slammed the file shut, letting his hand come slamming down on the table with a bang. "Whoever paid you off to switch out the flu vaccine for what he gave you? Genetically altered it, and then gave it to you with the sole purpose of murdering four people. And right now, kid, you're the only one going down for all four counts."

"Whoa, whoa!" Patrick jumped out of his chair and backed up into the far wall. "I was just told it was a different vaccine for them! No one ever said anything about a plague!"

Santana went over to take his arm and guide him back to the table. "Sit down."

"Told by who, Patrick?" Woody asked, leaning forward. No answer was forthcoming, and he clenched his fist. "Told by who!"

"Some guy, okay? He said we used to be in the same class in school and he remembered me, said he was in charge of dispensing the vaccines and that the board members needed a special one. He was going to fix it so I'd be the one to see them."

"What's his name?"

"I dunno, I hadn't seen him in years before that. To be honest, I only vaguely recognized him. Something O'Malley." Patrick slumped, the reality of his situation hitting him hard. "His first name is normal, I can't remember. He didn't give me a phone number or anything."

"And the ten grand?" Santana pushed.

The kid shook his head sadly. "He said it was to help me out. Shit. He was buying me off, wasn't he?"

"So it really wasn't any kind of payment?"

"No way, lady. I'm not a hit-man." He looked at them both, eyes wide with fear. "Should I be getting a lawyer? Am I still being charged with anything?"

Woody took a deep breath, thinking for a moment. "You should probably talk to the Public Defender's office about getting a lawyer just in case, but I don't think the D.A. will be bringing charges against you given the situation." He pulled a business card out of his breast pocket and handed it to him. "But if this O'Malley tries to contact you in any way, get in touch with me or Detective Santana immediately. Got it?"

"Yeah, man."

"You're free to go."

Patrick scrambled to his feet and practically ran from the interrogation room in his haste to leave.


	12. Chapter 12

**To the thoughtful anonymous reviewer who commented after the tragedy in Boston – Thank you, so very much, for your kind words. It all still seems unreal here for me personally as well. I knew two people who were in Boston that day (thankfully they are both fine) and another friend with close family there who still has not heard from them yet. After any kind of man-made disaster like this it is difficult to know what to think. So again, thank you for your well-wishes and warm thoughts. Even though we do not know one another, they are appreciated.**

**And to anyone who may be reading in the Northeast US and especially Massachusetts, my thoughts are with all of you now as well.**

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**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 12**

"There were three O'Malleys that entered Boston U. at the same time as your Patrick Gilbert," Nigel said distractedly as he perused the file he'd pulled up on the computer. He had contacted the university as soon as the detectives had returned, and they had then sent over various records to help the investigation. Woody and Santana leaned close to peer over his shoulder. "Patricia – probably not who you're looking for – Michael, and Nate. They're all doing their residencies now. Patricia is the only one still in Boston; Michael is interning at a hospital in Washington state and Nate is in Virginia."

Woody stepped back and ran a hand over his face. "Residencies? If they're not doctors yet, could any of them even be included on our list of suspects?"

"First of all," Jordan piped up from her stool at a nearby counter, "they _are_ doctors, just interns at the moment. A student becomes a doctor as soon as they pass their board exams. But no, they wouldn't have access to the tools needed to do the kind of research our perp would have been doing."

"So Gilbert lied." Santana crossed her arms, letting out her breath in a harsh sigh.

"I didn't get that vibe from him," Woody said, chewing his lip in thought. "He was freaked when he found out someone used him to kill those people."

"What about T.A.s?" Jordan suggested suddenly. "A Teacher's Assistant would have remembered Gilbert, and he'd be farther advanced in the medical field by now than an actual classmate." The other three people looked at her inquisitively and she shrugged. "What? I had a crush on one of the T.A.s from a class I took in college, and it got me thinking. And before you ask, Nige – because I can totally see your mind going there – nothing came of it."

Nigel made a face at her, but obediently pulled open another file onto his screen. "The university was kind enough to send us that list, as well, so let's see. Say, Jordan, how many times did you have to take _your _exams?"

"Once," she retorted sourly from across the room, "and I got the highest score in my interning group. Any other probing questions about my past?"

"Nope, that'll about do it for now. Want to come take a look at this with us?"

This time Jordan joined the three of them around the computer, putting her hand on Woody's shoulder as she leaned forward to see the names flying up the screen. He glanced at her when he got a whiff of her scent, giving her a brief smile that she returned. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he was horribly impressed at what she had just revealed about her education. Sometimes it was easy to forget she had actually gone to medical school, with the way she always pushed to solve cases like a cop.

"Here," the criminologist said, pausing the list. "Thomas O'Malley. And what's this? He was working at a research facility up in New York until recently. He moved back to Boston five months ago."

"Do we have a name and phone number for this research facility?" Woody asked.

"Yes, it's right here." Nigel moved away from the computer to give him access. Woody pulled out his notepad and pen, then his cell phone and dialed the number. It rang three times before a woman answered the other line.

"Thank you for calling Freeman Medical Research, how may I direct your call?"

"Yeah, hi. This is Detective Woody Hoyt with the Boston Police Department. I'm trying to reach someone at your facility about a former employee."

The woman paused for a moment, and he could hear her typing something on a computer. "You'll want Rick Gable in HR. I'll patch you through." The line went quiet before it started to ring again.

A different person picked up a few seconds later. "This is Rick."

"Hey there, Rick. This is Detective Woody Hoyt with the Boston Police Department," Woody said once more, doing well to hide the impatience from his voice. "I have a few questions about a former employee of yours - one Thomas O'Malley. I was told you were the one to talk with."

"The Boston police?" the other man repeated, surprised. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, that is confidential information in regard to an open investigation. Could you please tell us what Mister O'Malley did for your company?"

"Oh, yeah, just a second." Rick was silent for a minute, and Woody could hear him typing something - probably pulling up records. "He was a top researcher with us. He had a few private contracts with personal bidders, as well as a few public contracts with the state. He was also on a handful of teams working with hospitals. What do you need to know?"

The detective suddenly stalled, realizing that without a medical background he wasn't sure what kinds of questions he needed to ask to get all of the information they'd need. He turned worried eyes to Jordan, who read the message as though he'd said it out loud. She took the pen right out of his hand and scribbled across his notepad. _Projects? _ "What kinds of projects was O'Malley working on?" he asked off of her tip.

He turned the phone outward, and Jordan darted forward and pressed close to hear as well, not even questioning that he may have been doing so for Santana. Nigel and the other detective smirked at each other.

"I'm sorry, sir, those records are sealed. You would have to talk with his supervisor."

"Okay." Woody took his pen back and made note of that. "You mentioned private contracts? Can you tell me who any of those contractors are, or what he was working on for them?"

"No, sorry. That is all...well, private." The typing stopped.

"And if we get a subpoena?"

"We can give it all to you then, but not before."

"Right." Woody and Jordan exchanged glances, and she nodded briefly to urge him on. "And his public contracts?"

More typing. "According to his record," Rick started, his voice distorted as he moved the phone, "it was mostly work on...um, sorry, I'm not a doctor or anything; a lot of this doesn't make sense to me. Illnesses? Vaccines and stuff. I think that's what this means."

Jordan's heart started to pound and she sucked in a breath. Her counterpart, to his credit, stayed much more calm. Her eyes met his and he nodded to affirm that he, too, understood what this meant.

"That's okay, you're being very helpful," Woody murmured as he jotted a note about this down as well. "Can you tell me why he left?"

"It looks like he got into an argument with his supervisor. It was his final flag, so we sent him packing."

Jordan grabbed the pen back and, before Woody could hang up, she scribbled out another message: _Ask if he took any research with him._

"Rick, I have one more question for you. Did O'Malley take any of his research with him when he left?"

"He wouldn't have been allowed to take any of the private or contracted public research," Rick explained, "but his file says that he was given allowance to work on one personal project. I'm sure he would have taken all of that with him. As far as I know, none of it was left behind. It would have had to come through my office at some point if it had been."

"Do you know what that personal project was?" Woody asked, reclaiming his pen once again before Jordan had a chance to prompt him on that one.

"No, sir," Rick said. "I'm sorry."

"No problem. You've been a big help. Can I have the name of his supervisor? Maybe they can fill in some of the blanks."

Another pattering of the keyboard before the man on the phone replied. "Samantha Mayfield."

"Thank you, Rick." He got the supervisor's phone number before hanging up.

"It's him," Jordan said immediately. "I know it's him."

"We know, Jo," Woody soothed in an attempt to keep her calm, sensing that familiar hysteria close to her surface. She would make herself crazy with this one if she wasn't careful. Just like he would. "We just need to get more information on him first. Hey Nige, any luck with a Boston address?"

Nigel shook his head in the negative, not looking up from his computer. "None, mate. He never registered for a new driver's license or change of address, and there's no record of him here in any of the major databases so far."

"Right."

When both Jordan and Santana looked at him for his next move – Jordan out of unquenchable curiosity and Santana for direction – he sighed. They had a strong idea of who the murderer was, but they had very little evidence and absolutely no way to find him. "One board member is still alive," Jordan pointed out quietly. "Maybe she knows him?"

"I'll go to the hospital to talk with her," Santana offered, standing and reaching for the New York DMV photo Nigel had printed. "I'll also call in an A.P.B."

"We have to find him, Woody," Jordan whispered so quietly he almost didn't hear. Her eyes had glazed over, stuck on the door that the other detective had just left through.

He turned to face her, still standing beside him, and took her upper arms in his hands. "We will." She didn't look at him and, growing worried, he gave her a very light shake so that she blinked out of her stare and tried to focus on him instead. "Jordan. We will."

"You don't understand, Woody. We _have to_."

The rising panic in her voice was alarming even to Nigel, who took a step closer. "Jo," Woody murmured, brushing her hair from her eyes with his fingers. "What? What don't I understand?"

She suddenly met his eyes, hers wide and filled with a knowing fear. "You have to find out what his personal research project was."

"_Why_?"

"This bacteria can be used as biological warfare." That made his face drain of color, and she swallowed. "If he continues to purposefully infect people…thousands could die before they can seek treatment. What if that's his intention?"

Tears had started to fall down her cheeks, and Woody dried them with his thumb as Nigel watched fearfully. "If that was his plan, why stop with only four people – and board members of a hospital where he could have continued his research, no less?" She didn't have an answer. "There are no coincidences. If he were going to cause widespread mayhem, he wouldn't have stopped at four. That's not how people like that work."

She shook her head, ready to argue, when Nigel spoke up. "He's right, Jordan. My guess?" He glanced between the two, continuing when he had their attention, however divided it was. "He was applying for a grant or some such with the hospital and was turned down. Sweet revenge, my dear. Our remaining board member can fill us in. In the meantime, I'll see if any other petitions were filed elsewhere. Why don't you two, er, go relax?"

Woody thanked Nigel and turned back to steer Jordan from the room, but she had already slipped out.

xXx

By the time he got to her office, she was gone. The light sweater he had brought for her was missing, too, as was her unique key ring from the dish on her desk. Woody frowned. She couldn't leave. So where had she gone with her keys?

His eyes roamed over the office, trying to get some kind of idea. They landed on the window she had been spending hours staring out of. The roof! Of course! She'd need the building key to get back inside. The fresh air, an escape. And, no matter what she said to the contrary, she didn't need to be completely alone.

That was where he found her.

"Don't jump," he said quietly, echoing his words from many years before.

She turned her head just enough to see him from the corner of her eye, a small smile tugging the her lips before fading again. "I just…needed to get out. I feel like I'm going crazy."

"Are you?" Woody asked softly, coming to stand next to her at the wall and looking out over the city but still leaving about a foot of space between their bodies in an attempt to take some of the pressure off. "Going crazy?"

It was a simple question to anyone else, but both of them knew how loaded it was with her past. Jordan sighed and pulled her sweater closed over her chest, clenching the edges in her fist. The wind felt incredible after being stuck inside even for those few days, and she closed her eyes and let her head drop heavily. "I probably shouldn't even be up here," she said bitterly instead of answering. "I had to go into the stairwell. I'm pretty sure that's outside of my quarantine zone."

He shrugged, not wanting to push and willing to go with her flow of conversation. "You can't be kept locked up, Jordan. I don't blame you for needing to get out. And technically you haven't left the building; you're just on top of it."

She chuckled and gave him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the busy street below. "I guess so."

"Jordan," Woody whispered, just heard above the wind. He reached across the space he had left and grasped her hand, which was hanging limply over the side of the wall. "Don't be afraid."

She squeezed her eyes closed and nearly pulled her hand away, but at the last second she forced herself to stay away from old habits. "When I first moved back to Boston after being in L.A., I was working on a case with this cop. Garret wasn't chief, so I was having to really toe the line, right? But I was reckless, as always, and I got into a lot of trouble. Right before it was too late, I found myself in bed with that cop when I realized he was the bad guy I had been bulldozing forests for."

"Jo -"

She didn't let him interrupt her, though, and kept talking before she lost her nerve. "As I handcuffed him to his headboard and jumped out of the bed, he threatened me. Over and over. Mob ties, hits, the works. Do you know what I did?"

Woody shook his head, surprised to be hearing any of this at all.

"I laughed at him," she spat, angry at the vivid memory. "I laughed and I told him to do it, told him 'my biggest problem is that I don't care whether I live or die'. I really didn't care. I hadn't for a long time." She was silent for a few tense seconds before adding, "I still don't. The 'how' and the length of suffering matters, but the end result? Not so much."

"Jor -"

"I mean, I'm not going to off myself or anything. That only happened once, a long time ago, and I wasn't exactly thinking rationally at the time." She risked a quick glance at him and couldn't help the shame rising in her chest at the look of horror on his face. She didn't tell him that she had written herself a prescription for sedatives the same night she found the tumor. It was sitting unfilled in a locked drawer in her desk at home. "Now, though, I have something to live for," she said softly. "I have you. I've never had a reason like that before, and it makes a difference."

"What does that mean?" he asked.

The confusion in his voice pained her, and she turned her hand in his to twine their fingers together, still not quite meeting his eyes. "It means that I'm not afraid for myself. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid for you, Woody. For what will happen to you if...something happens to me. And that - that's enough. Because I love you."

Woody gaped at her, stunned and unable to find the right words to respond. Then he remembered the way she had clung to him last night after they had talked. They hadn't made love then, but they had come achingly close – and through it all, there had been a fervor in her touch that he had only felt on a few other occasions. Afterward, when they had been falling asleep, she'd held his hand tightly. At the time, he'd just accounted it to her fear at the situation, but now…

"E-enough?" He pulled his hand from hers to use both of his to cup her face, forcing her honey eyes to his nervous blue ones and closing the distance between them without thinking. "Jordan, what does that _mean_? What are you saying?"

She blinked and her gaze flitted away, out toward the city skyline then up to the clouds before coming back, but she didn't jerk away from him. "Having you in my life is enough to…I don't know, to make me think before I do those stupid things I do that put me in danger. Enough to convince me to fight when I want to…give up. Like now."

"This is really what's bothering you, isn't it?" Woody whispered in a mixture of panic and awe, his hands dropping from her face down to her shoulders.

She nodded silently, her eyes sliding closed again. "I, um, I was debating telling you. But I've already told you everything else, so hey. There it is. Hopefully the last of my deep, dark secrets." Her soul had just been laid bare before him, and she took a deep breath.

"Oh, Jordan." It came out as a sigh as he pulled her into his arms and dipped his face to press against her neck and hair. "Jordan, Jordan…"

She was startled when she felt moisture against her skin, and she reached up to embrace him tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head so she could run her fingers over his hair. "It's gonna be okay, Farm Boy," she soothed gently, finally believing the words herself as she began to slowly sway side to side with him as his tears came. "Everything is gonna be okay now."


	13. Chapter 13

**As always, thank you to all of my readers and everyone who has reviewed!**

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 13**

"So this cop," Woody began for the third time that afternoon, watching as Jordan took a bite of the lunch Nigel had brought for them. A real bite, too, though he didn't say anything about it. "Is he still in jail?"

Jordan shrugged. "I don't know, I guess. He got, like, twenty-five to life."

She ignored his eyes on her as she continued eating, knowing he was storing the guy's name away to check on once he got back to the precinct. They had stayed up on the roof for almost an hour, not saying much more. Instead they just stood there silently, content to be in one another's arms, hearing the other's breathing or the beating of their heart. After the week they had had, that was the most healing hour together they could have wished for. He hadn't tried to refute her words or convince her it wasn't true. He'd known her for six years; he had to realize at some point that she had very little regard for her life most of the time. He'd even mentioned it himself a time or two in the past, usually in a what-were-you-thinking-you-almost-died kind of way.

Finally, he had asked her very quietly if she felt she would be able to eat, if there was anything in particular she's like. She'd smiled broadly at him and touched his cheek. That was how they had ended up with Italian take-out; Woody had gone inside and asked Nigel to get it, loathe to leave her side for the rest of the day.

"So he never tried to contact you or anything?"

Jordan laughed and shook her head. "No, Farm Boy, he has never tried to contact me. His threats were pretty empty. I've gotten much worse." She met his eyes and smirked when he blanched. "Oh, come on! You always ask people, 'Did so-and-so have any enemies?' For me, the answer to that question would be, plenty. I've probably made more enemies than friends over the years."

Woody's shoulders sagged and he let his fork drop into the paper bowl. "I guess you're right. You sure do have a way with people. And not a very good way, either."

"Hey, that's not very nice!" she said in her own defense, lightly punching his arm.

A knock on the doorframe brought their attention up, and they saw Santana standing there with an ever-growing case file and her notebook. "Hey, guys. Busy?"

The medical examiner turned her grin to the other woman and gestured her inside. "Hey, Luisa. Come on in. Hungry?" she asked, holding out a bag of warm bread sticks.

"No, thanks." Santana shook her head, her eyes briefly meeting Woody's. He seemed to be feeling better now than he had been the day before and she grinned at him. "I just spoke with Hutchings, the board member who was out of town? She was pretty horrified to find out what had happened. But - get this." She opened her notebook and glanced over the notes she had taken. "O'Malley applied for a research position a few weeks ago. He was denied."

They both sat forward, their interest peaked. "So he _was_ trying to continue his research? Was she able to tell you what kind of research he had?" Jordan asked, pushing her meal aside to make space for the file on her coffee table. Santana sat on the floor across from them as she spread everything out.

"Yeah," the detective said with a hint of excitement they all recognized from being hot on the trail of something. "He wanted to continue what he had started in New York - genetically altering a known bacteria."

Her gaze flicked to Jordan's, and the doctor filled in the rest. "_Yersisnia pestis_."

"Yep."

"If he applied through the hospital, his application should have a record of his address," Jordan mused, already focused on the papers before her. "I did an internship with a research team when I was in med school. The paperwork was really thorough."

"I've already asked for everything to be sent over to me at the precinct," Santana explained. As if on cue, her cell phone started to beep and she unclipped in from her belt and flipped it open. "Yeah?" She listened to the person on the other line for a minute, then smiled, thanked them, and hung up. "Speaking of, Mrs. Hutchings found everything. It's waiting on my desk and his new, shiny address here in Boston is right at the top. You wanna come, Hoyt?"

"Um…well…" His sentence faded before it started and, as quickly as the excitement bloomed in his chest, it vanished when he looked at Jordan and thought of leaving her again.

Sensing his eyes on her, she met his gaze and, practically reading his mind, smiled warmly. "Get outta here, Detective."

"Are you sure?" he asked, turning to her completely. Santana stood and backed away, feeling as though she were intruding but not knowing where else to go yet. "I can stay here with you. I don't mind."

Jordan teasingly pushed him away from her, her grin transforming into a smirk. "Go, man. I'd already be out the door if I were allowed to leave."

xXx

Thomas O'Malley's new address wasn't in Boston's city limits at all. In fact, it was about an hour outside the city and Woody watched as the clustered building began to spread into the metro area. Santana was driving, chatting amicably with Claudia, who was in the back seat. Bug was following behind them in one of the morgue SUVs, just in case there was some evidence to be gathered and taken back. Another squad car with two more officers was among their small caravan.

Woody fingered the search warrant in his hands, not really listening to the two women as they talked about Atlanta and what it was like to live there. He was still thinking about Jordan and how it felt, having to leave her behind again. She had watched longingly as he had gathered his jacket and keys and walked away, though he had pretended not to notice. They had left the full file spread out on the table and she had immediately started to rifle through it. He sighed and closed his eyes, seeing her face in his mind. A wave of intense emotion hit him.

He had almost come to terms with the meningioma and the effect it was going to have on her health. Her life. His life. Their lives together. He could handle all of that. He knew he could. It tore him apart sometimes late at night while she slept and he lay awake that there was nothing he could do about it, but they would be okay.

And kids? He almost laughed to himself. He couldn't believe that, of all things, she was nervous that he would have a problem with her not being able to have children. Sure, he would have loved to have children with her. But, like he had told Dr. Macy before – all he cared about was being with her, the love of his life. He'd do everything in his power to make her understand that, to make her know how loved she was, and every chance he got.

It was the other things now - things like this stupid disease - that would drive him insane with worry for her. He had always worried, but now...now it was different.

"Oh, here it is," Santana said suddenly, slowing the unmarked Crown Victoria to a crawl. "The house belongs to Krista and Tom Harrison, but it's the address on the application."

Woody opened his eyes again. They were in a rundown neighborhood with one-story and split-level houses along both sides of the road. The house she had pointed out was a pale yellow. There were two old cars out front and about a weeks' worth of newspapers in the driveway.

The other police car pulled around and kept going at the detective's subtle signal, not wanting to alert anyone who may have been home. They'd circle around and come back once Santana and Woody had knocked on the door. Bug went ahead and parked beside the house next door as Santana cut the engine.

"Stay in the car until I wave," she told Claudia as both she and Woody unbuckled their seatbelts and quietly got out of the car. "Got the warrant?"

"Yeah, right here." Woody held it up briefly, then unclipped the buckle over his holstered gun. Something about this felt off.

Santana noticed and nodded her agreement. "The cruiser is coming back. Come on."

They walked across the street and through the unkempt yard up to the front door of the yellow house where O'Malley had supposedly been living since he returned to Boston. She gestured to Woody. "Your collar. Go for it."

He pounded on the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, BPD! Open the door!"

Silence. They looked at each other.

"We have a warrant," Woody continued loudly. "We need to come inside _right now_. Open the door or we'll use force."

Still nothing.

"This isn't right," he whispered, peering carefully through the narrow window beside the door. There were no lights on inside. No movement, no sounds. The other two officers came up behind them. "Two cars, newspapers...I see a coffee mug on a table near the sofa, a book on the floor. And...blood. There's blood! Get this door open!" He turned to one of the other cops and got out of the way while he pried it open for them.

The smell of congealed blood and decay hit them first. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, and the two officers, who were not from the homicide unit, recoiled. Woody pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth, while Santana made use of a newly gloved hand.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "I guess the Harrisons are dead, huh?"

Woody treaded lightly into the foyer to get a better look into the living room, where he could now see a man lying face-down on the carpet beside the couch. The book and coffee had been his, as had the blood. "Guess so. Bug! We need you in here!"

The M.E. was right behind them, and the cops moved away so he could come inside with a kit. "I've called for a van," he said brusquely, already making his way to the first Harrison on the floor to begin a cursory examination.

Wishing for the umpteenth time that this was Jordan with him instead of Bug (though he did like the man, of course), Woody turned to look around the crime scene. "There was very little struggle," he observed, noting how nothing other than the book and the body on the floor were out of place. "The attacker was likely already in the home. O'Malley, probably, since according to what he told the hospital, he was living here. The blood spatter begins on the couch, here, and then falls down along the cushions…" He followed it with a gloved finger. "And ends with the pool of blood by the body. Bug?"

"He's been dead for at least a week," he replied distractedly. "Throat was slit. I'll have to do a full autopsy before I can give you a positive CoD."

"Can you give me more than that?"

"No," was the terse answer. "I'm not Jordan."

Woody shrugged and turned away toward the kitchen, trying not to let on to how much that stung. "Check the rooms down the hallway there," he told the two uniformed officers still standing in the doorway with Claudia. They nodded and made their way toward what was probably bedrooms and a bathroom. He turned into the kitchen with Santana, who was flipping through a stack of mail. "Anything?"

She shook her head. "Bills and some boring catalogue. They seem like pretty normal people."

"Detectives!"

It was one of the officers, and Woody and Santana left the kitchen to follow the call to the master bedroom. They had found Krista. She was dead in the bed, under the covers. Aside from the smell and decomposition, there was no obvious way to tell what had happened; it looked like she had been sleeping. No blood was in the room.

"Um, Claudia?" Woody took a step back, his heart constricting. "Is this…did she die from – from the bacteria?"

The doctor came into the room, handing everyone a mask as she went. Without a word, she pulled the bed covers back and made a gentle cursory exam. "Yes." She glanced back at Woody with eyes wide. "He killed them both?"

His brain started to whirr. "Krista likely died first, before Tom knew what was going on. O'Malley must have killed him before he found his wife. Probably thought she just had the flu or something." He looked back out into the hall, desperately seeking some kind of clue or direction. "Any sign of him living here?"

"The other bedroom was empty," one of the officers supplied warily.

"Guys!" Bug called suddenly. "There's a basement here!"

The detective rushed over to where the M.E. was standing two doors down, Santana on his heels. With a gentle hand, he pulled the other man back from the dark stairs and unholstered his gun in preparation to descend.

"Surely he's not still here?" Claudia asked in a panicked whisper, reaching out to grab the arm of the officer standing closest to her. He looked at her in surprise, but she was too frightened to notice.

"Luisa." Woody nodded his head toward the stairs and she took out her own gun in response. "Jason, behind." The other officer gave his consent.

Very quietly, he began to go down the stairs and into the dark below. His eyes adjusted quickly thanks to the light above and he scanned the small room. There was a bed against the far wall. A desk, a large set of drawers. And, along the wall beside the stairs, a long table with odd-looking equipment. "It's empty," he called up. "Come on down and find the lights."

There was the sound of feet on the steps, and then the overhead light flickered on. The table was littered with medical supplies and equipment. Vials, needles, syringes microscopes, and a number of things he couldn't name – even a small refrigerator. All the makings for a DIY laboratory.

"He might not be here now, but O'Malley was definitely here at some point," Woody muttered.

xXx

"This is the same strain of _Y. pestis_ that killed all those people," Claudia said softly, her voice pained. Everyone had returned to the morgue to examine the evidence and bodies they had found, and she adjusted the view on her microscope to bring her slide into better focus. "Most of the vials were already empty, but they still had traces of it."

"Damn it," Woody spat, resisting to urge to punch the wall in anger. "He was _there_! He was there and we missed him! Now two more innocent people are dead."

"Hey, calm down." Jordan was at his side in an instant, her hand on his arm. She could see the beast trying to come out and she pressed close, trying to soothe him before he truly lost his temper.

"Calm down? _Calm down_!" He spun on her, ready to release his frustrations, but then, just as quickly as it had risen, his anger vanished when he saw her livid face, ready and willing to fight back when he wouldn't listen. It was like she was the antidote to his fury, as ridiculous as that seemed. Her temper was at least five times worse than his and much more volatile, and yet there she was telling him to stay calm. The pot calling the kettle black. It had worked, though, odd as that was. His shoulders slumped forward and he let out the breath he had been holding before catching her hand to bring her fingers to his lips. "Fine. I'm okay."

She nodded and took a step back so he could go hover over Nigel, who was lifting fingerprint after fingerprint from the equipment. "Our Mister O'Malley is in the system; he was printed when he took his exam. All of these are his. Buggles also found the weapon used to murder Tom Harrison under the couch. It also has his prints."

"So we've got him," Woody breathed, the muscles of his jaw tightening. "Now if we can only catch him."


	14. Chapter 14

**As always, thank you to all of my readers and everyone who has reviewed!**

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 14**

Woody poked his head into Jordan's office, relieved to see her up and at her computer rather than bothering Nigel, Garret, or Claudia about the case. That didn't mean she hadn't been doing so in the hours of his absence, but right then, at least, they were being given a reprieve. "Hey," he said quietly, not wanting to startle her by just barging in.

Her bright eyes darted up from the screen and then right back down. "Hey yourself. Have you found him yet?"

"No, not yet. We have a car outside the house and a few more in town," he explained, sitting on the couch and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "It's just a matter of time before we catch him. It's gotta be." He'd been telling himself the same thing since the night before.

Jordan sighed and looked up from the computer again, holding his gaze this time. "Yeah, but at the cost of how many more lives?"

"He's in hiding, Jo," Woody implored, not liking the sharp edge to her voice. It sounded too much like his from the day before. This case was hitting all of their buttons, but they had one another to pull the other back from the brink however many times necessary. She had proven that to him last night and now he could prove it to her again. "He won't kill anyone else. We'll find him first." He paused, his hand going to the breast pocket of his jacket to feel what he was hiding inside. "Come here for a second."

Her eyes turned wary, eyebrows knitting in concern. "Why?"

"Just come over here, Jordan." He held his hand out to her, beckoning.

After a moment, she pushed her chair away from the desk and walked slowly over to the couch, sitting carefully on the edge of the cushion next to him. "So, uh, where have you been all day? Santana called looking for you, so I know you weren't with her after you left your office this morning."

Her mind was too quick for her own good, and Woody grinned sheepishly, caught. "I went to get something out of my safety deposit box at the bank."

"And that took you almost six hours?"

"I had to go get it cleaned and checked over, too," he said weakly, displeased that the surprise he had been trying to plan was being ruined by her relentless prodding. "It's kind of old, so I wanted to make sure it was still in good condition."

Jordan cocked her head, raising a single eyebrow and not at all willing to let him off the hook. "Oh?"

"Fine," Woody muttered good-naturedly under his breath, pulling out a small velvet-covered box from his pocket. "I was trying to surprise you."

She reached out and touched the ring box, not taking it from his hand just yet. "Woody, is this...?"

"It's not the same ring," he supplied quickly, shaking his head as the tips of his ears turned red.

That wasn't what she was going to ask but she didn't try to repeat her original question. She took the box this time, lightly running her fingers over the lid for a second without meeting his eyes. Her heart had begun to thud wildly at the sight of it with a familiar fear that said to _run _and she was having to pour a large amount of effort into making it stop. After a moment just long enough to make him sweat, she opened the lid.

Inside was not the engagement ring she had been terrified of, but instead a gorgeous light blue star sapphire set in antique gold - the kind with an almost orange tint - studded with ten tiny diamonds around the precious stone. She gasped, another "oh" falling from her lips as she gently plucked the ring from its velvet casing and held it up to catch the late afternoon sun coming in through the window. The light made the star appear right in the center of the stone, the diamonds a small brilliance beside it.

"Woody..." She looked back up at him, nearly at a loss for words. "This sapphire...it's the same color as your eyes," she finally whispered, knowing it was cheesy and not caring.

"Yeah," he said quietly as he watched her carefully. "That's exactly what my dad said to my mom when he gave this ring to her on their first wedding anniversary." Without any hint of forcefulness, he took the ring from her and slid it into the middle finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly. "Cal got her wedding ring, but I wanted this one. Now I want to give it to you. She wore it every day. But I mean, you don't have to wear it all the time - or ever, really - but maybe it can be a reminder of your...your lifeline. Of me. If you ever need one."

Tears blurred her vision and Jordan blinked them away, feeling overwhelmed at the incredible thoughtfulness behind the gesture. "I can't take your mother's ring, Woody. I...I know how much this must mean to you."

"I know you do," he murmured, wrapping his hands around hers. "It's just like your mother's locket. Keep it, Jordan. It will make me happy, to see you wear it. And besides, what use do I have for a piece of jewelry?"

She nodded silently, a single tear falling down her cheek. A lifeline. _Thank you_, she mouthed, unable to make the words form.

He brushed the moisture from her face with his thumb before pulling her into an embrace before she could see that he was about to start crying as well. "You're welcome. I care about you so much, Jo, and I will do anything you need me to do to keep you happy and healthy. I promise. Right now..." His breath hitched, and she wrapped her arms around him in return, knowing he was finally ready to continue their conversation from before. "Right now I'm just afraid. You're right. I'd fall apart if..." He couldn't even say it, but she understood where he was going.

"We've faced the end of the world together," she mused into his ear. "We've also saved each other more times than I can count. Things are just a little..._weird _at the moment, with this isolation and quarantine and stuff. I went a little crazy there for a while, I know, but everything will be okay." She kissed the soft skin of his neck as much to soothe herself as him. "I love the ring. Thank you."

They were both silent for a few moments before she pulled away and raised a hand to run her fingers down his jaw. "And for future reference - do you remember the ring Pollack got me? The one he was going to propose with?"

The color drained from his face at the memory, but he swallowed loudly and nodded regardless. He remembered it all too clearly.

"I didn't like it," she said, giving him a wide, amused smile as she got to her feet. Garret's warning ran through her mind, and she made a mental note to keep herself in check for Woody's sake. "Too big and bulky, and I don't like that cut. Also, I would never have been able to work with that rock on my hand. Just, you know, for...future reference." She made sure her back was to him when she added, "The one you gave me for my birthday was perfect. Even if I didn't admit it at the time."

"Jordan, are you - ?"

But he didn't have a chance to finish his question. Detective Santana came sprinting through the hall, only just catching herself on the doorframe to keep from hitting the wall. "Hoyt! Why is your phone off? Come on! We've got him!"

"What?" Jordan asked, whipping back around, the previous conversation completely forgotten for the moment. "When?"

"Thirty minutes ago," the other woman replied breathlessly. "I've been trying to call you. Come on, man, the interrogation is all yours! If you want it. Otherwise I call it."

Woody leapt to his feet and snatched up his car keys. "No way. This one is mine. Let's go."

Jordan followed them to the door and out into the hall. "Luisa, was there a struggle?"

She stopped and turned around, her face somber as the question registered. "Um, yeah, there was. He had filled syringes on him when he was apprehended," she said slowly, not wanting to recall the incident herself. "He got two of ours. They've already been admitted to the hospital. Claudia says they'll recover, now that we know the cause and strain. She took the rest of his...I dunno, his vials or whatever to study."

"Jesus." The M.E. ran a hand over her face, letting out a breath she hadn't realize she'd been holding as she walked with them to the elevators. How had she not noticed Claudia leave? "What a monster. Nail him to the wall, guys. I'd do it myself, but...you know. I can't leave."

There was a dinging sound when the car arrived, and Woody turned to her, dropping his keys in his pocket so her could slide both of his hands down her arms. "It's almost over," he told her firmly. "We'll be home by dinner tomorrow."

Instead of answering, she pressed her right hand to his cheek so that her new ring caught the light and pulled him down for a quick kiss. "Good luck." Then she gave him a mischievous smile that brought a spark to her eye. "And while you were gone, Garret gave me permission to do the autopsy on Tom Harrison, even if I did have to twist his arm a bit. Since you didn't give me a chance to give you my report earlier, you'll have it faxed and on your desk by the time you get to the precinct."

A warm feeling akin to relief flooded through his body, from both her touch and her words. She had done the autopsy. They were working as a solid team again, even if the circumstances that brought them back together in that capacity were far from good. Not to mention the fact that her autopsy would be spotless and filled with vital information.

"Hoyt," Santana urged from inside the elevator, aware of what they were discussing but still growing impatient when she had to continue holding the doors open. "Come on."

"Love you, Jo," he whispered before stepping back into the car.

She didn't respond, instead merely watching silently with a small smile as the doors closed in front of them so the elevator could descend. Hopefully it really would be over soon.

xXx

Thomas O'Malley was a very attractive man. Soft, light blond hair, bright blue eyes, freckles, naturally tanned skin. The kind of person other people would be inclined to trust. Sitting alone in the interrogation room under the harsh lighting, he wasn't even breaking a sweat. Woody watched him through the glass, lips pursed tightly. O'Malley knew he had been caught. He knew why he had been arrested. Yet he was just sitting there, cool as could be, while he waited for someone to come into the room.

It made Woody seethe with anger. "Can we start yet?" he asked Santana, who was standing beside him with her arms crossed.

She checked her phone silently, feeling his foul temper and trying to keep it directed away from her. "Walcott wants to be here, especially since he waived Miranda."

He snorted but didn't say anything else, instead looking through the bin of evidence collected off O'Malley's person upon his arrest. There were fourteen syringes, each individually bagged with the bacteria drained by Claudia and removed for testing. Harmless now, but the emotional effect was still the same. There was also a key that would likely match the lock on the Harrisons' house and a retractable hunting knife that Jordan would soon be able to prove was the weapon that killed Mr. Harrison.

The door to the observation room suddenly opened and both detectives looked up, not liking this feeling of dogs having to be kept on a leash as the DA came in and took off her jacket. "Well?" Woody asked somewhat sourly.

"Don't let me hold you back," Walcott said with a mysterious smile that made him nervous. It was too much like the smile Jordan had right before she did something dangerous. Something that involved playing with fire - or metaphorically _lighting _things on fire. But then again, it _was _Woody who had pointed out how similar the two women were. He nodded once, took the file from the desk, and walked briskly into the hallway with Santana on his heels.

O'Malley calmly turned his cold gaze to the door when it opened for the detectives to enter. His lips curved up at the corners, not quite a grin but something that could pass as one. He didn't speak.

"Are you sure you don't want a lawyer?" Woody dropped the now-thick file on the table in front on him and sat in one of the empty chairs. "You're in a lot of trouble right now."

"No. Not yet." His eyes sparked momentarily as they landed on the papers and it was obvious he was not anxious in any way about what was going on despite the evidence stacked against him. He rested his cuffed wrists against the tabletop and leaned forward. "I'll answer your questions. If I feel like it."

Working to keep his anger in check, Woody pulled out the morgue photos of the hospital board members and spread them on the table, not wanting to play games with the DMV pictures instead. "Fine. Do you know these people?"

"Yes."

"_How _do you know them?"

O'Malley's sharp blue eyes met Woody's. This wasn't going to be easy, evidence or no. He was too smart. _That, or is he planning something?_ the detective thought, his mind going through every possibility as he watched the other man quickly supply his answer. "I applied for a job at their hospital. They interviewed me."

"Right." The application was pulled out of the stack as well. "Did you get this job?"

"No."

"And you had just lost another job in New York, is that right?"

A brief flash of malice came into those blue depths, and Woody saw the evil under the facade of normalcy as the man sneered. "How did you know about that? It's unimportant. A mere slip-up"

"Oh, it's very important to us, Tommy. You see," he said softly, "all of your 'slip-ups' mean something. We called the company you used to work for and spoke with your previous supervisor there. She was most informative. Said you were fired. For pushing too hard with your personal research project and live testing. She told us that what you wanted to do was pointless and dangerous and, when informed of this, you...how did she put it, Detective Santana?"

"You lost your temper with her. Threatened her life, wasn't it?" Santana easily cut in, resting her palms on the table top beside her partner to form an intimidating wall. "And her family as well. They kicked you out of the program immediately and ruined any chance you had of finding another job in New York. She even tried to have your medical license revoked, but you left the state before you could be censured. Lucky for her you left in a hurry," she added in a low murmur, "or she would be dead, too."

"You paint a pretty picture," O'Malley replied quietly, looking between them both with a far-removed fury burning in his face, "but that's all it is. I think I'd like my lawyer now."

Not waiting for the DA to tap on the glass to reel them in, Woody snatched back the photos and papers to slide back into the file. All he'd wanted was to see what they had. "A representative from the Public Defenders Office will be here shortly," he snapped curtly as he stood so he and Santana could leave. O'Malley was watching them closely. The mask was gone and all that could be seen on his face was evil. Not wanting to be in that room for another second, Woody ushered Luisa toward the door.

Suddenly there was a scuffling sound and a chair being tipped backward, and then a stinging sensation in the back of his left shoulder.

Santana began to yell and she quickly shoved her partner behind her as she drew her weapon, only aware that Woody was in danger and their suspect was moving. "On the ground!" she screamed at O'Malley, who had gotten to his feet and come after them. She clicked off the safety in an unspoken threat. "Get on the ground, _now_! Now!"

He just stood there with a sickening smile on his face. The door burst open and five more officers flooded the room to subdue him. O'Malley went easily after that. Shaking from adrenaline, she lowered her gun and turned around, her wide eyes finding an ashen-faced Woody sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall behind her. "Hoyt, what...what did he..."

He was holding a syringe in his hand and staring up at her in fear.

"We missed one."


	15. Chapter 15

**As always, thank you to everyone who has been reading and especially to those who have reviewed!**

**This is chapter fifteen, which means there is only the epilogue left before this story is finished. Almost done!**

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Chapter 15**

There was an immediate flurry of activity as chaos erupted.

Santana refused to let anyone move Woody away from the wall until the EMTs arrived with Claudia, so Walcott began to pace in front of them asking questions neither wanted to answer. Or _could _answer, for that matter.

"How did he get that thing in here?" she asked, infuriated. "How could this have happened?"

Woody glared up at her from the floor, his head starting to pound. He hoped it was all in his mind - the syringe had looked mostly full when he had pulled it out of his shoulder less than fifteen minutes ago - but he could swear he was starting to sweat, too. Was that even a symptom? He tried to listen to Jordan's voice, going down the list. He couldn't remember. The heavy door was propped open to let air circulate and he tilted his face toward the faint movement.

"We don't know, okay?" Santana snapped from one of the interrogation room chairs, her head propped up in her hand. "It all happened too fast. It sounded like he bent down first, so maybe he got it out of his sock or something? But really, lady, we don't know. Go ask him."

"But wasn't he searched before he was brought in? Surely he was!" Reneé threw her hands up in the air angrily. "If this happened because of a lapse in judgment, I'm going to make sure someone is fired."

"It's no one's fault!" the other woman shot back even though the statement wasn't directed at her. Just the threat against her fellow cops was enough to raise her hackles.

"Guys, stop." Woody's head lolled back against the wall again as he glanced over at them. The syringe was still held loosely in his hand, and he could feel the deadly weight of it even as he was afraid to put it on the floor where it could be stepped on. "I'm the one that's probably gonna die here, and I'd like to do it without you two arguing. Man, you really do sound like Jordan..."

All three of them froze when he said her name, locking eyes with one another. Walcott's face lost its hard edge and she let out a long sigh. "You two have been through too much for you to die now," she said softly, dropping into one of the remaining chairs. Her words surprised him, and Woody gave her a small smile in return.

"One of you needs to tell her," he pointed out.

"What?" Santana looked at him in panic, having forgotten about his other half amidst all the mayhem. "Why us? Why not you? She's a "kill the messenger" type, remember?"

"He's about to be carted off to the hospital," Walcott said bluntly. "He can't make a stop by the morgue on the way, now can he?" She set him with a hard stare, as though making sure that really wasn't in his plan. "Besides, Doctor Cavanaugh likes you, Detective Santana, more than she likes me. I'd say that's pretty obvious. I can call Garret to inform him of what happened and to make sure he keeps everyone out of her way for the next thirty minutes."

xXx

Santana stood in the lobby of the morgue for a full five minutes before she was able to convince herself to push through the double swinging doors to find Jordan. The woman's temper was legend, and she had never had it focused on her in the past. The doctor was also incredibly intelligent and rather manipulative when she wanted something and, even though Luisa had been given strict instructions not to let Jordan leave under any conditions...somehow she had a feeling that wasn't going to go over very well. Or maybe not at all.

Feeling her stomach start to constrict, she gently opened one of the doors and went inside. No one had told her yet what had happened, having designated that particular task to Santana, and so the halls were empty in an attempt to stay out of Jordan's way.

She found her in her office - her home away from home - and, as soon as their eyes met, Jordan had stood from the couch and was on her feet.

"What?" she asked immediately. "Luisa, what happened? Tell me."

"I..." But the other woman paused, suddenly unsure of what to say when Jordan's worried brown gaze flashed.

"Tell me!" Jordan all but yelled, trying not to panic now as she rushed to close her office door. "For the love of - did something happen to Woody? Is he hurt? Luisa!"

Santana shook her head, but then she nodded once. "Well, he's all right. I guess. He's in the hospital with Claudia for, um, treatment."

"Treatment for what?" she cried, not even the slightest bit ashamed at the alarm in her voice. _Not Woody_, was the only thought going through her mind. _Not Woody. Not again_.

"O'Malley somehow got a syringe by the guards and into the interrogation room. It was in his sock or something," Santana started to explain before noticing that Jordan didn't care about the little details right then. "He, uh, stabbed Hoyt with it in his shoulder. It didn't really inject anything, but the trace amounts on the needle were enough to worry Claudia so she had him admitted."

Jordan flew across the room and opened the bottom drawer of her desk to pull out her purse and keys. "Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

"To the hospital. Come on." She was already halfway out the door before Santana reached out for her arm, and Jordan gave her a withering glare. "Don't. Don't even _tell _me I'm not allowed to leave. Because I am going to that hospital with or without your 'permission'."

"Jordan -"

"No!" She jerked her arm out of the other woman's grasp. "I assume he was brought to the hospital at Boston University? Their quarantine unit? I'll be trading one quarantine for another." Her voice lowered as she added, "I'm not going to leave him alone. You just try and stop me."

A charged silence fell for a tense few seconds before Luisa gave in, just like she knew she would. "Okay, fine. But _I'm driving_. That way no one can accuse you of trying to leave or something."

xXx

"Jordan!" Garret growled as soon as he saw her round the corner of the hallway in the hospital. He, Bug, and Walcott had been conversing in a small waiting area that had been turned into some kind of command post with laptops connected to both the morgue and the CDC. "What the hell are you doing here?" His gaze immediately flicked to Santana, who shrugged helplessly.

"Where is he?" Jordan asked instead, not even bothering to answer his question. "Garret, where is he!"

Her boss set down the pad of paper he had been reading over and came to put a hand on her shoulder. "Relax, Jordan. Claudia has him in a private room back here. She had to sedate him; some of the more intense medications were making him ill."

"So he really did get a dose of that...of the bacteria?" She had begun to shake from nerves and adrenaline, but she refused to let anyone guide her to a chair. Everyone had been so worried about _her_; this wasn't supposed to happen.

"Trace amounts, really just what was on the tip of that needle," Garret told her soothingly. "Claudia is just being careful. And since he had already been on the antibacterials to begin with, the chances he'll contract anything are slim to none. Come on, you know that."

"I wanna see him. Now."

"Jo -"

"_Now_!" she snapped, not caring to hold her temper back any longer when it looked like they were going to be kept apart. "Show me his room or I'll find it myself."

"Bug, I'll be right back. Thank you, Luisa." He turned to Jordan then, his face holding all the annoyance he wouldn't voice. "Come this way."

Jordan flashed Santana a small, thankful smile before following Garret down the hall and past a row of closed doors. Most of the rooms were empty, but it was obvious this floor had been designated a temporary _Y. pestis_ quarantine unit. She spotted only three masked nurses wearing bright yellow paper robes at the station further down before her boss stopped her outside one of the rooms. "Here. Don't leave this area without a mask. Or better yet? Don't leave, period."

"Whatever."

"Jordan, I'm serious. You're still at risk, especially here."

"And I don't care," she hissed angrily. "All I want is to be with Woody, and right now you're blocking me from getting to him. What do you think is going to happen to you in about three seconds? One..._two_..."

Finally he nodded and briskly walked away without another word so she could enter the room.

Claudia looked up from Woody's chart, startled when the door quietly opened, but she smiled widely when she saw who it was. "Well, hey there," she said softly. "I'm surprised to see you, though I guess I shouldn't be. It's safe enough."

"How is he?" Jordan asked, reaching wordlessly for the chart. The other doctor gave it to her without question, and she skimmed over the list of medications currently swimming through his system. No wonder he had started feeling sick.

"Just fine. Out cold right now, but he keeps coming around every thirty minutes or so." She grinned again, this one sly as she watched her read the chart. "He asks for you every time."

The M.E. didn't know how to respond to that, so she just handed the file back and pulled a chair close to the bed so she could cover his hand with hers. Memories began to flood back and she blinked them away when Claudia touched her shoulder and whispered, "I'll be out in the lobby with everyone else. Just dial the nurse's station if you need anything."

Jordan nodded, suddenly finding herself in silence broken only by the beeping of monitors as the doctor left. "I'm here, Woody," she murmured.

As she stared down at him, she realized she had been so preoccupied with herself and her own predicament the last few days that she had given no thought to what she would do if she had lost him rather than the scenario she had been playing in her head, of him losing her. There was very little threat of that _now_, she knew, but it was still a startling brush with reality. Their jobs - his job, especially - put them at risk every day. The ring on her finger caught the stale hospital light. A physical reminder of their connection, as if they needed one. She had never felt more connected to another living person before, and she had always felt that with him despite how she had tried to fight it.

Quite suddenly, she heard him make a small sound, almost a moan, and her eyes darted to his face just in time to see his flutter open and look around blearily. "Jo...?"

"I'm here," she repeated, picking up his hand and encasing it with hers. "I'm right here."

"Good." His eyes slid closed again and his breathing evened out. But then he inhaled somewhat sharply, his mind trying to work. His words came out slurred when he finally found them. "Wai' a min't. Why're you here? Not sup's'd to be here."

Jordan smiled and brought his encompassed hand up to her lips so he could feel it on his fingers. "I came here to be with you, hon. Had to make a fight of it, though."

"Mhmm."

"Go back to sleep, Woody," she told him gently, replacing his hand on the mattress. "I'll still be here when you wake up. Maybe I can even take you home. That would be nice, huh?"

He groggily shook his head. "No, too small. I keep breakin' things."

"What?" Jordan looked at him in confusion, not a clue what he was talking about.

"I can't fi' in there. Your apar'men'," he tried to explain, obviously not fully aware of what he was saying and having a very difficult time saying it at all. "That figur'ne you though' fell behin' the dresser - I bro' it. The vase, too. And two plates."

"Oh, hey, that's okay," she told him, holding back a burst of laughter.

"Can we jus' buy a house?"

"I...what?" That took her off guard and her laughter faded a little. She had known it was coming, but _now_? Okay, so maybe he was a bit more aware of what he was doing after all. Or maybe he was far more out of touch than she had initially thought. "A, um, a house?"

"Uh-huh."

She had already planned her answer to this, but she had expected the question to come over some kind of...dinner or something. At least on the couch, or maybe in bed. This was not what she had been expecting. At _all_. Just how drugged was he? Her planned answer didn't work in this situation. So instead she just squeezed his hand. "Sure, Woody. Let's buy a house."

"Cool." His smile was woozy and his eyes were still closed, but then that smile evened out again with his breaths. "Am I gonna rem'mber any o' this la'er?"

Jordan chucked and lowered her head to rest against his chest. "No, probably not."

"Then, hy'othe'cally..." His voice faded a bit as he tried to understand what he had just said, and she grinned at how horribly that word had come out. "If I as'ed you to marry me, woul' you say yes?"

She fell into a stunned silence at that one, the grin fading quickly from her lips. Her head was still on his chest and she could hear the even beating of his heart under her ear - not to mention through the monitor. Not a hint of a waver or increased rates that would come with nerves. He really had no idea of the impact of the question he had just asked. This wasn't a proposal, right? In fact, her earlier observation was likely very true; he probably wouldn't remember any of this once the drugs wore off. Besides, her silence wasn't bothering him at all, a very un-Woody-like trait when it came to such loaded questions.

Finally, she sat back and touched her hand to his warmed cheek. His eyes were still closed, but he hadn't dropped off to sleep yet. "Yeah," she whispered, suddenly not afraid to say what she was really feeling in her heart. "I'd say yes." She smiled again, this one large and genuinely happy. "But no diamonds, okay? I just want a plain band, one I can wear while I work. Nothing fancy."

"...Mkay."

He was gone again a few seconds later, the sedative too much to fight.

"But," she added in a murmur she knew he couldn't hear as she stroked his forehead. "If you do get me a diamond, the marquis cut is my favorite."

There was a soft knock at the door, and Jordan glanced over her shoulder to see Santana quietly come inside. "Hey," she said softly, her eyes meeting the doctor's before falling down to her unconscious partner. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Jordan affirmed, her heart still tight but doing a fair job at hiding it. "He's fine. Just a little loopy when he's not passed out. Thanks. For…you know. Not trying to keep me at the morgue like Garret would have done."

The detective shrugged. "I knew it wouldn't work, no matter what they tried to tell me. We've solved the case, if you want to see the file or anything."

She looked again and saw this time that the other woman was holding a bulky folder in her arm, finally ready to close. "O'Malley was arrested?" After she received a silent nod, she continued with, "That's all I really need. Although…" She thought for a moment, her mind going back to the first body they found, the Jane Doe later identified as Katie Andrews. "Katie, the woman found in the park. Why was she there, covered in flowers like that?"

"Oh, that." Luisa sighed and pulled another chair up to Jordan's side, placing the heavy file on a table. "After the blood tests and everything confirmed her COD was the, um, the bacteria, we called her family back in. Her brother, who had lived with her, was showing symptoms, too. Her mentally ill brother. He was admitted here late last night, I think, and not long after his caregiver came to us with an admission that he gave to her. He found his sister dead in her bed and brought her body to the park because she loved it there so much. Covered her in flowers out of respect. He didn't know what he was doing wasn't right." She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "Walcott isn't pressing charges."

"Good. Poor guy," Jordan added softly, running her thumb over the back of Woody's hand. "Having your whole life upturned like that in an instant. He must have been so confused."

"Claudia says he still keeps asking when his sister is going to come see him. It's heartbreaking."

"And O'Malley? What was he charged with?"

"I had already left to come get you when Walcott filed, but from what I heard? A lot, including a handful of first-degree murder charges, as well as conspiracy to commit murder and first-degree assault for what he did to Hoyt. He's going away for a really long time."

Jordan didn't respond, instead taking a deep breath and letting it out in a long, low sigh, her eyes never leaving Woody's calm face. It was over.


	16. Chapter 16

**The final chapter!**

**First, I want to thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to those who have reviewed. I would have continued writing even without knowing this was being enjoyed, but it makes me so happy to know that, even in this "fandom" that is now quite dead, there are still people around and active. So really, thank you for reading and for taking the time to review.  
**

**I will do my best to continue writing as time allows, as I adore _Crossing Jordan_. I may have an idea for another chaptered story; we'll see if anything comes of it.**

**Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy the last chapter!  
**

* * *

**Fear Itself**

**Epilogue**

"I'm not sure anymore, Woody," Jordan muttered unenthusiastically, staring out the window of the car and watching the Boston suburbs fly by. "Maybe we should just give up. I mean, this is going to be the twenty-third house we'll have looked at. And my - our - apartment isn't _that _small, is it?"

"It's the twenty-third house because we've been through five real estate agents, thanks to you," Woody retorted good-naturedly. "People don't really take kindly to you and your...attitude."

"Well, if they would just listen to what I was telling them I wouldn't get so angry!" She scowled and sank down into her seat, arms crossed over her chest.

He glanced over at her briefly. "You've kind of been asking for the impossible, you know that, right? And besides, it wasn't your anger that drove one of them away. Beatrice was not very taken with your innuendo at every turn. We only got to see one house with her."

"That lady was practically a nun. I didn't like her." But then she let go of her feigned annoyance with the situation and they both burst with laughter, remembering the encounter with the stiff woman in her fifties the month before. Almost immediately, Jordan had begun to comment on every inch of the house where she and Woody could do something...inappropriate. Things had gotten even worse when it had come to light that they were unmarried. They had never seen Beatrice again. "But this house that we're seeing today, it seems too good to be true. How did you hear about it again?"

"It was taken by the police a while back," Woody reminded her when his laughter subsided. "Since there was no next of kin for the deceased found inside and the house was not willed to anyone, it was about to be sent to auction. I asked to take a look first. It's also starting at half the cost than most of the others we were looking at, too."

"Homicide?"

"Natural causes, but the police wanted to make sure. I have the coroner's report if you want to see it."

Jordan pursed her lips at that and sucked in a sharp, agitated breath through her nose. Woody noticed his mistake at once. "The house isn't in the Boston city limits." It wasn't a question, but a pointed statement. If the case had gone to any other morgue but hers, it had been out of her jurisdiction. "Woody, I thought we -"

"You're right, Jo." This was something he was going to bring up later - much later - and, knowing he'd been caught Woody instantly tried to placate her and correct the situation. "We talked about it_ a lot_, and I know how much living near the city means to you. But this one is right on the city line, and it's so perfect. Just take a look. Please?" He flashed her a dimpled smile and watched as her resolve cracked the tiniest bit.

"Fine," she said under her breath. "I'll look at it. But no promises."

"Thank you." He reached one hand from the wheel and touched her thigh, but was not at all surprised when she continued to stare out the window instead of looking at him again. He just grinned. Not two minutes later, they had arrived. "We're here. See? I told you it wasn't far."

Jordan got out of the car wordlessly as the real estate agent, who had gotten there first, made her way over to Woody to shake his hand. She looked up at the old brick house and was suddenly glad she had agreed to give it a chance. There was wisteria climbing up a trellis along one side of a gorgeous, open front porch that would likely smell incredible when it began to bloom, and a wooden swing was nestled among the vines in the shade of the overhang from the upstairs balcony. Lovely flowerbeds and a wide, healthy grass yard in the front gave way to a yard in the back that was just as nice. The first impression was a good one – even if that wisteria would have to be looked after.

Still, though, she couldn't resist walking up to Woody and leaning in to whisper sarcastically, "Where's the white picket fence and all the desperate housewives?"

He turned to glare at her and was taken off guard by the small smile playing on her lips as she continued to look around the outside of the house. He put his hand on the small of her back. "Diana gave me the key. Want to go inside?"

She nodded and walked up the brick stairs to the large front door. Woody handed her the key, content to let her take the lead, and watched as she unlocked it and stepped inside. Even devoid of furniture, which had already been divided per the deceased man's will or sold at previous auctions, the house felt like a home - like it had been lived in and loved for a very long time, now ready for someone new. The big windows let plenty of sunlight into what was likely the spacious living room. The kitchen was beside it, separated by an arched walkway. Granite countertops, wooden cabinets, a nice island. The stairs leading to the second story were down a wide hallway with a few other doors off of it.

"Do you two, erm..." Diana paused and bit her lip, frightened of watching another property slip through her fingers with this very stubborn woman. "Do you know the history of the house?"

"Someone died here. We know," Jordan shot back without even bothering to look at her as she made her way into the kitchen.

Both Diana and Woody were keeping a careful eye on her as she ran a hand over the granite and looked out of one of the kitchen windows. It gave a wonderful view of the yard through the wisteria. "There's a half-bathroom at the end of the hall and a mudroom right here," the real estate agent began to explain timidly, gesturing to a closed door off the kitchen beside a huge pantry. "There's also another empty room on this floor that can be a den or an office."

Not paying much attention, Jordan went down the hallway, also flooded with natural light due to the open layout, and went up the stairs.

"There are three bedrooms and two bathrooms," Diana called, rushing after her. "One connected to the master suite and another at the other end of the hall. The, um, the master bedroom is to your - your right. Oh -" She had caught her foot on the carpet runner on the stairs in her haste not to let her very difficult client out of her sight.

Woody followed them both, holding back a chuckle. He was already in love with the house, so now it was just a matter of getting Jordan to agree. That would be the hard part. Perhaps twenty-third time's the charm? He fingered the new ring box in his pocket. He'd been carrying it around for almost two weeks now, waiting for the right time. This certainly wasn't it, but it just cemented in his brain what he already knew - he would follow her anywhere, even back to that tiny apartment.

"Those French doors there? Those lead to the mater suite," Diana was calling from the hallway, where she had removed her shoe to make sure her toe was still a normal color. "But please, Miss Cavanaugh, wait just a second!" The frazzled woman gave Woody a pleading look.

"Calling her 'doctor' instead of 'miss' might get you somewhere," he whispered, walking by her and through the open double doors into the master bedroom.

"Woody," Jordan murmured, "look."

She had immediately gone to the upstairs balcony on the far side of the room and opened the door. She hadn't stepped out, but something had stopped her in her tracks. There, just over the short treetops and neighboring roofs, they could make out the city skyline.

"I take it this is the one, then?" he asked, coming up behind her to kiss the side of her hair.

"Yeah. I guess it'll do."

xXx

"There are only a few boxes left," Kayla informed them a few months later on a bright spring afternoon as she set down a light box of clothes on the landing by the stairs. "It's mostly furniture now, and I'm not touching that."

"Thanks, baby," Jordan whispered, taking her into a sideways hug and kissing the top of her head.

"I'm so glad my mom let me help," the teenager said cheerfully, smiling up at her friend and moving out of her grasp to take a swig from a bottle of water. "This house is _awesome_. And did you see that hot guy across the street?" She was gone again, back outside, before Jordan had a chance to respond.

"Hey -"

"We have an extra bedroom now," Woody said quietly, coming to stand beside her and wrapping his arms around her waist as she reached after the girl who had almost become her adopted daughter. "She can come stay whenever she wants when she comes home from college."

Jordan turned in his embrace and gave him a playful smile. "It's a good thing we already have a spare bed, then. There is no way I'm letting your ratty thing into our new _master bedroom_." She said those last words with such a flourish that he couldn't hold the barb about his bed against her. _They had just bought a house – a house they were currently moving into_. But then her lips turned down again in concern. "But, uh, did Kayla really just say something about our neighbor? A few months ago she had a boyfriend."

"Teenagers," he whispered soothingly, his gaze darting out one of the large windows to see Kayla now in the driveway across the street talking to that 'hot guy'. "Relationships never lasting as long as it takes them to…well, what _do_ teenagers do now? But I guess I can't really talk; I almost married my high school sweetheart. Man, I still can't really believe Kayla was almost your daughter."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"What?" Woody looked at her again, confused at the abrupt change in topic.

"Didn't marry Annie," Jordan supplied lowly, crossing her arm over his chest to run the backs of her fingers over his cheek. "Guess that makes me kind of selfish, huh? I know you loved her."

He caught her hand in his and held it against his face. "I hated that damn reporter with every fiber of my being. Does that make us even?"

"Sure." She smiled widely at him, everything else around them fading away as he kissed her knuckles and then opened her hand to press his lips to her palm. "So romantic," she murmured, eyes on their fingers. "But I think I'd like _this_ a little more right now…" Without another word, she extracted her hand from his easy grasp, threaded her fingers through his hair, and kissed him full on the mouth.

His lips opened obediently under hers, his hands slipping under her shirt to rest against the warm skin of her lower back. She pressed closer to him and slid one of her legs between his – only to jump apart as though they'd been shocked two seconds later.

"Oh, my _God_, that's so gross!"

Kayla had come back inside with one of the last boxes and she dropped it dramatically at her feet with a loud huff. "I mean, really? There are people outside and you're supposed to be an adult."

"Yes, Jordan," Nigel said slyly, coming inside as well and setting another box on the island in the kitchen. "You should be setting a good example for this sweet, virtuous child. Showing her to preserve her innocence rather than lose it at such a young age. You know, not to repeat your mistakes."

"Nigel!" Jordan barked, throwing the first thing she could reach – which happened to be a small telephone book – in his general direction. Her temper interfered with her aim and he easily danced out of the way with a laugh. "Shut your trap. You know I was in college when I…when I 'lost my innocence'," she added for the benefit of Kayla, who groaned and walked away.

He just chuckled and went back toward the open front door, where Bug was about to drop another, larger, box. "Any word from Garret yet?" she asked.

"No," the entomologist replied breathlessly, "but at this rate we'll be done by the time he gets here. You should take advantage of having professional movers here, though, and get your furniture inside. It'll be hard to do by yourselves."

Jordan nodded, starting to feel a little overwhelmed again. Woody noticed immediately. "I've got this, Jo," he said. "I'll go tell them were to put our stuff and then we can rearrange it later, if you want. Hey Kayla! Go upstairs and decide which of the spare bedrooms you like more!"

She watched thankfully as Woody went outside to talk to some people, and then as Kayla ran excitedly upstairs. Bug and Nigel cleared out as well a moment later and she was alone downstairs. In her home. She smiled softly, running a hand over her hair as she looked around the living room, filled with boxes and just her couch so far, and made her way into the kitchen to find her purse. It was sitting on the counter under a lovely row of cabinets that were also hers now. Her smile widening, she opened the bag and began to rummage through it for something.

That something was a letter to her father. She had actually written it four weeks ago, after all of the paperwork had been finalized and a move-in date had been set, but she hadn't sent it. The envelope was crinkled and a little crushed in places from having spent the between-time in her purse, though it was already stamped. All the letter had was her new address and telephone number, and a small note hoping he was well. But that was enough.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Woody outside and went past the moving truck to the mailbox at the end of the driveway to slip the very first piece of mail inside. They had already spoken to the Post Office, so it would be picked up on Monday. She looked up to see Woody watching her, and he gave her a loving, supportive smile that made her feel as though everything were going to be okay. One he had given her so many times during the course of their friendship, and one whose meaning had never changed. One that had gotten her through many rough times and many more to come.

She turned her gaze back up to the house – the _home_ where she was going to spend the rest of her life with him.

"How's the move going?"

"Garret!" Jordan spun around to see her friend getting out of his car. "We're almost done. You're, like, five hours late!"

"Yeah? And when was the last time you showed up on time for work?" He took her into a tight hug as she started to laugh. "This is a gorgeous house, Jordan. Though I must admit, I'm surprised you let Woody talk you into moving outside the city."

She shrugged and looped her elbow with his, guiding him up the walkway to the open front door. "There was no sweet-talking involved, man. Let me show you my new home. I think you'll understand."

xXx

A few more hours later, after everything had been moved in, the truck and cars fully unloaded, and goodbyes said, Jordan and Woody were finally alone. They stood in the living room, where Jordan's couch was pushed up under the windows and his was beside it across from the fireplace. Not a matching set, but movies had been watched on both of those couches – not to mention the other things they had done – and neither wanted to consider looking for a matching set yet. The television, still not hooked up, was on a stand across from both. And, as if pulling everything together, her mother's upright piano sat against the wall. Jordan hadn't asked permission to take it from her father's house, but she didn't think he'd mind; she was the only one that played it now. The room already looked warm and inviting, even with the mash of furnishings.

"Well. What now?" Jordan asked with a soft sigh as she looked around.

"I dunno," Woody replied, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. She fell back against him easily, a lazy smile on her lips. "Does this feel surreal to you? 'Cause I can't quite believe it's actually happening."

"Believe it, Farm Boy," she said softly. "Still feel like you're gonna break my stuff in here, or is this new house big enough for ya?"

Woody craned his neck to look down at her in confusion. "What're you talking about? I..uh, I never told you I broke anything in your apartment. Did I?"

"No," Jordan said with a quiet chuckle. She hadn't told him about his drugged hospital confessions, and she likely never would. It would only embarrass him silly. "Not really. Say...if we move this coffee table out of the way..."

She wiggled playfully out of his grasp and darted lightly over to the table in the center of the room, only to push it up against the sofa - leaving a great empty space in its wake. Before he could ask what she was doing, she walked over to the large inset bookcase where the only plugged in electronic was: her CD player. It took just a moment to find the CD she wanted, and she popped it into the player and selected her song. A few seconds later, _Dirty Water_ by The Standells filtered through the speakers and she grinned slyly as she sauntered back to the center of the room, beckoning Woody forward to join her with one finger just as she had done many times before long ago.

He stepped forward and quickly pulled her back into her arms, laughing as they spun around and began to sway to the music.

"Do you remember dancing to this in my dad's bar…what? Almost eight years ago now?" she asked ask they pushed away from one another and then spiraled back as the music played.

"Oh, yeah," Woody mused, tugging her close again so they could stay in place and dance there. "I was already madly in love with you then, even if you wouldn't give me the time of day. Your dad told me to be careful, did you know that?"

"I always did, Woody," Jordan said softly, looking up at him as they moved together.

"Always knew he told me to back off?"

She chuckled and glanced away, a smile on her lips. "No. Always gave you the time of day. Or _wanted_ to, at least. I seem to have chickened out at the last minute most of the time and by the time I wasn't afraid…well, you were there; you saw what happened. Things got complicated."

Woody laughed at that last sentence and held her against him tightly, continuing to dance. "I think you're always going to be '_complicated_', Jordan. I'm going to have my share of issues, too, and if I remember correctly? We made that whole situation a mess jointly. I'm just glad we can work through life together now despite all that. Go into the rest of our lives without that fear."

"Yeah," she agreed softly, leaning her head against the side of his. "Me, too. But right now? I just wanna dance for a while."


End file.
